Rich Wall - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Wouter Meijs - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Danny Sutcliffe - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Hayley Ellis - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Pete Otway - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Sarah Cassidy - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Ed Easton - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Will Duggan - Live Review

It might not trouble Simon Schama’s research, but this Beat The Frog show was historic, in its own minor way.

Dan Nightingale, the comedian who ‘invented’ the new act show for Manchester’s Frog and Bucket alongside agent Lee Martin eight years ago, is stepping down from compering it, even though he does an excellent job.

‘Invented’ gets inverted commas for, as Nightingale cheerily admits, he stole the idea from the gong show at the Comedy Store, earning himself a lifetime ban in the process. Although they, in turn, were just appropriating an old American format.

This was also notable for being one of the stronger ‘world series’ collections of comics who had previously defeated the amphibian. Sure there were the limitations many new acts seem to be constrained by – small-scale stories of their own inadequacies or minor observations told like they are insightful revelations – but on the whole, it was well-executed by confident, able performers.

Opening act Will Duggan pretty much epitomised that ethos, with a set that revolved around the fact he was a lazy ‘dickhead’ who yearned to do as little as possible. This bundled along nicely but unspectacularly – a wry self-deprecating comment here, a bit of Where’s Wally? nostalgia there – but really came into its own with his closing anecdote about killing a rabbit that absorbs you so completely you don’t see the payoff coming, although you probably should.

Ed Easton boldly opened his act with something quirkily different, reenacting a row using a couple of inanimate items from the cosmetic counter to make his points. Turns out that this routine has a decent punchline, but it’s surreally funny on its own merits. After that he settled into material about his own neuroses and how he came to fear the vagina, told with an engagingly casual approach despite the weirdness of some of his revelations. He had one of the more distinctive voices of the night, and was surely unlucky not to be placed. Plus he had the charmingly polite sign-off: ‘Thank you for having me’ which deserves kudos…

After the ups, a down, with Tom Dransfield and one of the weakest performances. He has the air of a very young actory type who has practiced this routine in front of the mirror countless times. Yet in front of an audience it seems fake, with its affected anger and unnatural tone. That the writing, on everything from being a posh-boy with dreams of being a gangster to a convoluted rant about how busses smell funny, lacked punchlines hardly helped his case. It’s a wonder how he survived a gong for five minutes.

Sarah Cassidy also suffered from being under-written, relying on her loud American brashness (sometimes stereotypes are true) to power through. She only covered two ideas: the difference between kids’ TV on both sides of the Atlantic, and the first man to discover sperm under the microscope. You can probably see the central gag in both – the in-your-face US programming as opposed to the polite, twee UK version; and just how did Antony van Leeuwenhoek come to make his discovery? Acting each scenario out only diluted the idea, rather than expanding on it.

We certainly picked up again in the second half, opened with Frog & Bucket barman Pete Otway. Well, if Jason Manford could famously make the transition from staff to stage, why shouldn’t he? Otway certainly has the same approachable charm, even if he overdoes the slightly forced asides to audience members. His material is a mixed bag – the literal interpretation of ‘so I turned around and said…’ seems very obvious, yet he is also skilled enough to make a cheap anti-Scouser jibe that is devastatingly funny. A routine about a foam party is witty, while he has managed to write a Facebook bit that doesn’t involve the word ‘poke’, so credit there. He benefited to some degree from a home crowd and the golden first-after-the-interval slot, but he has funny bones. And there’s no doubt he was the audience favourite. The subsequent vote proved that, and he took the £250 first prize (unchanged since 2003, we’re told!).

More self-deprecation from Hayley Ellis, describing how she can’t do ‘sexy’. She can do funny, though, and there are some sharp lines in this set – although overall it’s still hit and miss It’s comedy from the point of view of a struggling, ordinary young woman with an uncontrollable dog and little sense of glamour getting into situations that although unique to her are identifiable enough. Such scenes could easily wind up in sitcoms, Ellis surely has a future in comedy.

Danny Sutcliffe has some one-liners Jimmy Carr would be proud off, getting a laugh with only his second word. This style is brutally unforgiving, but Sutcliffe’s strike rate is pretty impressive, with only a couple of duds. His delivery enlivens the material nicely, being part cheery light entertainer, without being too cheesy. The routine is in serious need of a pay-off, but there are plenty of laughs en route, and he well-deserved his third placing.

The same can’t really be said of Wouter Meijs, who came in second, with gags that are often very obvious, such as sarcastically replying to the train announcement to ‘take all your belongings with you’: ‘But I can’t, most of them are still at home.’ A comic for six years, his Dutch accent gives him some vulnerability and an off-kilter cadence that can make normal sentences sound slightly funny, but sometimes that’s his only tool – such as the line: ‘Are there any shit stabbers in?’ which gets a laugh at his attempt at the offensive slang, but is followed up by: ‘No? They are fucking disgusting.’ Other gags are about his 6ft 6in frame and how how the Brits are aggressive are OK, but you might expect more.

Finally, Rich Wall, a cheery bloke in his mid-twenties who’s lively and engaging, but so lightweight as to be instantly forgettable, especially with generic quips at the expense of nearby towns or discussing how the Irish accent is sexy. He’s learnt a lot about pumping his performance with energy from the likes of Michael McIntrye – though thankfully not the skipping – but there’s not quite enough personality here. The closing routine about his response to the price of a fish finger butty in a posh hotel suggests he has a more inventive streak, but he needs to develop it more.

Steve Shanyaski - Live Review

Steve Shanyaski is the epitome of the modern club comic. He’s slick, confident and gets results, but largely by avoiding doing anything too interesting.

The bulk of his set is about his girlfriend, who is variously fat, argumentative or drunk. She takes all the wardrobe space, fills the house with candles and soft furnishing and won’t concede defeat in any argument – until he goes out and buys her expensive flowers.

His description of this domestic arrangement is recognisable to a lot of people – especially the partner coming home after a heavy night on the town – which is why it goes down so well – but also why so many comedians plough this furrow.

That means it’s hard to stand out, and for a large part of his Shanyaski indeed falls very easily in with the comedy consensus. Also fished from the generic pool are gags about working-class kids having ridiculous names, a one-chord song about internet dating being full of frauds and the tired old ‘…and that was just my nan!’-style reveals.

Yet he can sometimes transcend these uninspired starting points. His idea of what an unpretentious wine-bottle should really say might go on for too long, but it contains a couple of cracking lines, while his impression of a Northern girl having sex is uproariously funny.

Odd lines here and there continually add slithers of sparkle to the otherwise mundane material, whether it be a perfect analogy for vivid blue alcopops, or a description of the nipple he cheekily dares the audience to disagree with. Such moments show a potential for more imaginative thinking that Shanyaski largely fights shy of.

With delivery like a camp Peter Kay, he’s certainly got charisma and can easily command a room. If only he would use that charm to go off the route of zero resistance a little more often, he could be interesting as well as crowd-pleasing.

Brennan Reece - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Kevin Shevlin - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Graham Goring - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Ruth E Cockburn - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Peter Brush - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Luke Hannon - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Joe Bromehead - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert - Live Review

The final of Beat The Frog, with its line-up of new comedians taken from the Frog & Bucket’s weekly gong show, is a straightforward popularity contest, decided by a vote from the punters rather than the opinion of comedy insiders.

Had it been otherwise, I suspect the rabble-rousing Brennan Reece would not have triumphed, with his mixture of tired ideas and unpleasant attitude. The first half of his set left a particularly nasty taste, as he described a homeless woman through a blitz of insults about how smelly, ugly and fat she was – even making her very homelessness a reason to sneer. This from a man dressed like a Nathan Barley extra, in an oh-so ironic garish Christmas jumper, a quirky hat perched at an angle on his self-consciously geek chic haircut.

The second half of his set was the old response to being called gay as an insult by a bunch of football fans. His riposte: what could be gayer than watching 22 other men in the throes of physical exertion, etc, etc, etc. The way he put this was a spirited piece of crescendoing oration, but a triumph of performance over content.

Second-placed Kevin Shelvin offered a much more edifying prospect; and though he had his share of vicious prejudice – against stupid young people in particular – it was much more tongue-in-cheek. There’s little doubt he’s portraying himself as the loser; having opened his set with details of his social awkwardness and his lack of success with the ladies. It’s an intriguing and rounded persona, from which comedy naturally emerges – even if a few short minutes doesn’t allow him time for quite as many punchlines as more gag-driven sets.

No such problems for the deadpan Peter Brush, who came third with his collection of quirky one-liners, often quite unexpected and silly. There’s not a lot of personality in the performance but the gags are mostly strong, and the best of them would be worthy of the likes of Stewart Francis.

Similar – and to my mind superior – puns came from Graham Goring, whose failure to land a place was a clear miscarriage of justice. His persona is slightly smug, with a Ronnie Corbett-style flick of the glasses to accompany some of the smarter instances of wordplay, while his asides commenting on the material often gets as big a laugh as the jokes themselves. But the gags-per-minute rate is impressive, and he won’t shy away from bad taste if there’s a quip to be had in it. Enjoyable stuff, with a smattering of truly memorable lines.

Opening the night, Ruth E Cockburn had an alluring stage presence, affable but with a welcome flick of spikiness. However, she didn’t have the material to properly capitalise on that engaging persona. Comments about a woman with a disfiguring tattoo had little added value to the initial observation, while her jaunty song Your Girlfriend’s A Minger could have done with more bite. Personal confessions about her rock-and-roll devotion and festival failings offer more promise, as they allow her charm and confidence to come to the fore.

Joe Bromehead’s an interesting one: a prop- and stunt-based comedian whose commitment to a joke can’t be faulted, as he goes well beyond the call of duty for a laugh. The material’s patchy with familiar ideas about the consequences of drinking mixed in with some more unpredictable punchlines – and, indeed, behaviour. He also parrots Ricky Gervais’s style of delivering his reactions to topics in a high-pitched squeal, which isn’t appealing, but his quirkiness may win out.

Lewis Phillips-Calvert offers a tick-box of tired comedy subjects: ginger people, Heather Mills, supposedly ‘ironic’ sexism. He’d be an instantly forgettable act were it not for his brutally unpleasant gag about Katie Price’s disabled eight-year-old son. A very low blow indeed.

More comic misogyny from Luke Hannon, a self-avowed ‘politically incorrect’ musical act whose lyrics about being a fat lad include the line: ‘I love my gravy, I love my mash/If a waitress gives me the healthy option, I’d kick her in the gash.’ Such needlessly charmless material spoils what would otherwise be an enjoyable, if undemanding, set of lightweight lyrics and cheeky sexual references.

Seymour Mace - Live Review

Awkward outsider Seymour Mace is a strangely appealing mix of the deranged and the daft, one minute presenting himself – quite convincingly – as a creepy stalker weirdo, the next espousing some surreal ideas he’s clearly spent far too much time thinking about.

Forget Darwin, Mace has his own theory of the origin of the species, and it is as odd as it is disturbing. ‘Ah, nervous laughter,’ he says at one point. ‘My favourite kind.’ And he’s clearly out to disconcert as much as he is to entertain.

The perverse trains of thoughts create some original and nicely odd gags, such as his bit about animal biscuits, but it’s not all amiable surrealism, he can craft a memorable one-liner or even get inflamed enough for a full-on shouty rant, whether it be on the false friendships of Facebook or the last acceptable prejudice, against ginger people.

Not everything works – an occupational hazard of being a professional oddball – but the demented turns of his mind keep you transfixed through the less rewarding patches; though his climactic mime, reconstructing the movements of one of Gladys Knight’s Pips throughout the entirety of Midnight Train To Georgia could easily be a lot shorter.

Katie Mulgrew - Live Review

This spritely 24-year-old has an open and likeable style that gives her an easy rapport with the audience. Behind the bonhomie, there’s a slightly cynical edge, but it’s all presented with engaging wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Not much of the material – about hen parties, speed dating and phrasebooks - will be taken home to tell your friends the next day, but it’s fun to spend time in her company.

There’s a touch of the Lucy Porter to her, in both the things that make her set so entertaining and the things it’s lacking.

Sal Stevens - Live Review

There’s more than a touch of Russell Brand about Sal Stevens, and it’s not just the Essex accent and the rhythms of his patter. He also has a very similar comic outlook with a set that’s conversational, personal, and sometimes a bit sexual.

The likeness is largely incidental as he chats engagingly and wittily about contraception and his overactive imagination conjecturing what his girlfriend got up to on a girls’ holiday – although reading a newspaper article about a man having sex with a Henry hoover is problematic, as Brand has spoken about the exact-same story on stage. Oops.

Ray Bradshaw - Live Review

Glaswegian Ray Bradshaw is a very promising writer, able to create some enjoyably twisted punchlines such as his one-liners on wife-beating, which are funny without being gratuitously cruel.

Some of the less elaborate puns are more pedestrian, but he has maybe half a dozen lines in his set that any stand-up would be proud of, let alone one on the lower rungs of the comedy ladder.

Andrew Crawford - Live Review

Regular comedy goers will find familiarity with a lot of the topics ‘lanky, camp, white Mr Motivator’ Andrew Crawford discusses – from his mother walking in on him masturbating to unashamed nudity in the men’s changing room. Never is this more evident than his take on the ‘can you fry an egg?’ Navy recruitment ads, which is stylistically almost identical to Rhod Gilbert’s routine on the subject.

In his favour, Crawford has a flamboyantly expressive delivery, which props up this otherwise generic material, but it’s not really enough.

Shaun Paczkowski - Live Review

Shaun Paczkowski offers an engaging presence but no distinctive outlook. After a bit of blether about being a motorcyclist he produces a sanitary towel – rarely a good sign in comedy – before moving onto a routine about buying condoms and other sexual embarrassments.

The segments often end with an unexpected punchline, suggesting the man knows how to write a joke, but the premises are the stuff of so many previous comics’ routines that it’s hard to get too interested in what he’s saying.

Adam Staunton - Live Review

Adam Staunton is very young and very small, and he started off with expected lines on both – a Harry Potter lookalike gag, anyone? – before reinforcing a Scouse stereotype, too.

He has an engaging style, but in terms of content, there’s a lot here that’s been done before, particularly the recollection of being beaten as a child, with his father thwacking him on every syllable of the remonstration. More contemporary anecdotes seem unsatisfying, too, although they are well-told. There’s definitely scope for more ambition here.

Tim Bradbury - Live Review

Tim Bradbury is a great better rapper but weakish comic, using his talents to relate little more inventive than an ‘I shagged your mum’ putdown. He’s a adept beatboxer, and used every hip hop trick to manipulate the audience to his whim, but it did feel like trickery.

Away from that, he has an appealingly cheeky delivery – one part scally to two parts camp – although again his material is weaker than the presentation.