Jonathan Paylor - Live Review

The one thing lacking from the regular XS Malarkey night held during the Manchester Comedy Festival was a lack of festival spirit. It’s an excellently run club that always attracts a savvy crowd, so audience attentiveness is pretty much guaranteed, but it turned out to be a night that was gently enjoyable rather than raucously hilarious.

That atmosphere started with regular compere Toby Hadoke’s opening comments. Or polemic, as we should probably call it. Understandably narked with Jan Moir’s insidiously homophobic and innuendo-laden Daily Mail column about Stephen Gately’s death, he read it out almost line for line, with bitterly sarcastic commentary. A few asides were sharply funny, but that wasn’t really the issue: he had a point to make and if he couldn’t make it at his own gig, where could he? More message than comedy, but that’s what the acts are here to provide…

The rest of the line-up kicked off with a triptych of Manchester new acts being given the chance to shine, starting with the young and distinctive looking Red Redmond. In tartan trousers and black-and-white scarf, jagged crop of unruly ginger hair and tiny ukulele he certainly cuts a quirky, studenty figure.

Unfortunately, though idiosyncratic in manner, the material was less memorable, starting with an unambitiously crude songs featuring such juvenile rhyming couplets as ‘He made him cum/right up his bum’. This makes way for a routine about the aphorism: ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’, which is long-winded and unfocussed, and finally a ditty about Americans’ supposed lack of irony. A couple of lines here do come from an unexpected direction, but he largely struggles to get clear gags across succinctly.

Likeable Liam Timms also suffers from long-windedness, apparently oblivious to the fact that economy of words is crucial to comedy. His subjects, from movie trailers to Facebook, don’t inspire, and while he’s nice enough company, there needs to be more substance to his set.

Peter Brush has a couple of very nice lines, in the same inventive wordplay style as Milton Jones or Stewart Francis. Yet he often gets too obtuse and abstract, especially in the more extended jokes, making the audience struggle to follow his train of thought with too little reward if you did stick with him. But in the pithier moments, he certainly shows promise.

On, then, to the more established acts. I last saw Jonathan Paylor in this very room exactly three years ago, with an almost word-for-word identical set. That he’s stagnated in that time is disappointing, as there’s certainly room for improvement in a routine that’s moderately amusing, but far from perfect.

His angle that he is both gay and a football fan – and not once does he do an old switcheroo gag by making us think he’s talking about one of these traits when it’s really the other. Then there’s the reaction of his gay friends to his soccer obsession – preparing quiche for the big match – then obligatory gags about David Seaman’s surname. You might have thought the joke would have worn off in the 21 years since he made his England debut and five years since he retired from football altogether.

The rest of his set involves whining about things that are a bit rubbish and, well, chavvy: from Netto to baked bean pizzas in a routine that’s more about his dismissively deriding attitude than brilliantly-crafted punchlines, though there are a couple of fine jokes here. But despite a few tantalising glimpses of something deeper. there’s a tendency to settle for the easy, obvious sneers just as there’s a tendency to settle for this mid-level set.

Headliner Mick Ferry probably relies more on personality than material, too, though his stereotypically Northern attitude of revelling in the slightly disappointing nature of his ordinary life proves appealing. So it is tonight, as he bemoans the lot of the stand-up spending lonely, drunken nights in hotels, of the inertia that keeps him in a long-term relationship while daydreaming about his partner’s death, and about aging in general.

He wobbled on this last point, falsely believing the youngish crowd XS attracts from its location in Manchester’s studenty Fallowfield district wouldn’t be able to relate to a 41-year-old man.

But he needn’t worry, there’s nothing in his set that’s inaccessible – although his fears caused him to stray from his set pieces and, ironically, lose some of the crowd that way instead; and in the end a set running for around 45 minutes proved a little too much at the end of a longish night, and concentration flagged from performer and audience alike.

Mick Ferry - Live Review

The one thing lacking from the regular XS Malarkey night held during the Manchester Comedy Festival was a lack of festival spirit. It’s an excellently run club that always attracts a savvy crowd, so audience attentiveness is pretty much guaranteed, but it turned out to be a night that was gently enjoyable rather than raucously hilarious.

That atmosphere started with regular compere Toby Hadoke’s opening comments. Or polemic, as we should probably call it. Understandably narked with Jan Moir’s insidiously homophobic and innuendo-laden Daily Mail column about Stephen Gately’s death, he read it out almost line for line, with bitterly sarcastic commentary. A few asides were sharply funny, but that wasn’t really the issue: he had a point to make and if he couldn’t make it at his own gig, where could he? More message than comedy, but that’s what the acts are here to provide…

The rest of the line-up kicked off with a triptych of Manchester new acts being given the chance to shine, starting with the young and distinctive looking Red Redmond. In tartan trousers and black-and-white scarf, jagged crop of unruly ginger hair and tiny ukulele he certainly cuts a quirky, studenty figure.

Unfortunately, though idiosyncratic in manner, the material was less memorable, starting with an unambitiously crude songs featuring such juvenile rhyming couplets as ‘He made him cum/right up his bum’. This makes way for a routine about the aphorism: ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’, which is long-winded and unfocussed, and finally a ditty about Americans’ supposed lack of irony. A couple of lines here do come from an unexpected direction, but he largely struggles to get clear gags across succinctly.

Likeable Liam Timms also suffers from long-windedness, apparently oblivious to the fact that economy of words is crucial to comedy. His subjects, from movie trailers to Facebook, don’t inspire, and while he’s nice enough company, there needs to be more substance to his set.

Peter Brush has a couple of very nice lines, in the same inventive wordplay style as Milton Jones or Stewart Francis. Yet he often gets too obtuse and abstract, especially in the more extended jokes, making the audience struggle to follow his train of thought with too little reward if you did stick with him. But in the pithier moments, he certainly shows promise.

On, then, to the more established acts. I last saw Jonathan Paylor in this very room exactly three years ago, with an almost word-for-word identical set. That he’s stagnated in that time is disappointing, as there’s certainly room for improvement in a routine that’s moderately amusing, but far from perfect.

His angle that he is both gay and a football fan – and not once does he do an old switcheroo gag by making us think he’s talking about one of these traits when it’s really the other. Then there’s the reaction of his gay friends to his soccer obsession – preparing quiche for the big match – then obligatory gags about David Seaman’s surname. You might have thought the joke would have worn off in the 21 years since he made his England debut and five years since he retired from football altogether.

The rest of his set involves whining about things that are a bit rubbish and, well, chavvy: from Netto to baked bean pizzas in a routine that’s more about his dismissively deriding attitude than brilliantly-crafted punchlines, though there are a couple of fine jokes here. But despite a few tantalising glimpses of something deeper. there’s a tendency to settle for the easy, obvious sneers just as there’s a tendency to settle for this mid-level set.

Headliner Mick Ferry probably relies more on personality than material, too, though his stereotypically Northern attitude of revelling in the slightly disappointing nature of his ordinary life proves appealing. So it is tonight, as he bemoans the lot of the stand-up spending lonely, drunken nights in hotels, of the inertia that keeps him in a long-term relationship while daydreaming about his partner’s death, and about aging in general.

He wobbled on this last point, falsely believing the youngish crowd XS attracts from its location in Manchester’s studenty Fallowfield district wouldn’t be able to relate to a 41-year-old man.

But he needn’t worry, there’s nothing in his set that’s inaccessible – although his fears caused him to stray from his set pieces and, ironically, lose some of the crowd that way instead; and in the end a set running for around 45 minutes proved a little too much at the end of a longish night, and concentration flagged from performer and audience alike.

Toby Hadoke - Live Review

The one thing lacking from the regular XS Malarkey night held during the Manchester Comedy Festival was a lack of festival spirit. It’s an excellently run club that always attracts a savvy crowd, so audience attentiveness is pretty much guaranteed, but it turned out to be a night that was gently enjoyable rather than raucously hilarious.

That atmosphere started with regular compere Toby Hadoke’s opening comments. Or polemic, as we should probably call it. Understandably narked with Jan Moir’s insidiously homophobic and innuendo-laden Daily Mail column about Stephen Gately’s death, he read it out almost line for line, with bitterly sarcastic commentary. A few asides were sharply funny, but that wasn’t really the issue: he had a point to make and if he couldn’t make it at his own gig, where could he? More message than comedy, but that’s what the acts are here to provide…

The rest of the line-up kicked off with a triptych of Manchester new acts being given the chance to shine, starting with the young and distinctive looking Red Redmond. In tartan trousers and black-and-white scarf, jagged crop of unruly ginger hair and tiny ukulele he certainly cuts a quirky, studenty figure.

Unfortunately, though idiosyncratic in manner, the material was less memorable, starting with an unambitiously crude songs featuring such juvenile rhyming couplets as ‘He made him cum/right up his bum’. This makes way for a routine about the aphorism: ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’, which is long-winded and unfocussed, and finally a ditty about Americans’ supposed lack of irony. A couple of lines here do come from an unexpected direction, but he largely struggles to get clear gags across succinctly.

Likeable Liam Timms also suffers from long-windedness, apparently oblivious to the fact that economy of words is crucial to comedy. His subjects, from movie trailers to Facebook, don’t inspire, and while he’s nice enough company, there needs to be more substance to his set.

Peter Brush has a couple of very nice lines, in the same inventive wordplay style as Milton Jones or Stewart Francis. Yet he often gets too obtuse and abstract, especially in the more extended jokes, making the audience struggle to follow his train of thought with too little reward if you did stick with him. But in the pithier moments, he certainly shows promise.

On, then, to the more established acts. I last saw Jonathan Paylor in this very room exactly three years ago, with an almost word-for-word identical set. That he’s stagnated in that time is disappointing, as there’s certainly room for improvement in a routine that’s moderately amusing, but far from perfect.

His angle that he is both gay and a football fan – and not once does he do an old switcheroo gag by making us think he’s talking about one of these traits when it’s really the other. Then there’s the reaction of his gay friends to his soccer obsession – preparing quiche for the big match – then obligatory gags about David Seaman’s surname. You might have thought the joke would have worn off in the 21 years since he made his England debut and five years since he retired from football altogether.

The rest of his set involves whining about things that are a bit rubbish and, well, chavvy: from Netto to baked bean pizzas in a routine that’s more about his dismissively deriding attitude than brilliantly-crafted punchlines, though there are a couple of fine jokes here. But despite a few tantalising glimpses of something deeper. there’s a tendency to settle for the easy, obvious sneers just as there’s a tendency to settle for this mid-level set.

Headliner Mick Ferry probably relies more on personality than material, too, though his stereotypically Northern attitude of revelling in the slightly disappointing nature of his ordinary life proves appealing. So it is tonight, as he bemoans the lot of the stand-up spending lonely, drunken nights in hotels, of the inertia that keeps him in a long-term relationship while daydreaming about his partner’s death, and about aging in general.

He wobbled on this last point, falsely believing the youngish crowd XS attracts from its location in Manchester’s studenty Fallowfield district wouldn’t be able to relate to a 41-year-old man.

But he needn’t worry, there’s nothing in his set that’s inaccessible – although his fears caused him to stray from his set pieces and, ironically, lose some of the crowd that way instead; and in the end a set running for around 45 minutes proved a little too much at the end of a longish night, and concentration flagged from performer and audience alike.

Red Redmond - Live Review

The one thing lacking from the regular XS Malarkey night held during the Manchester Comedy Festival was a lack of festival spirit. It’s an excellently run club that always attracts a savvy crowd, so audience attentiveness is pretty much guaranteed, but it turned out to be a night that was gently enjoyable rather than raucously hilarious.

That atmosphere started with regular compere Toby Hadoke’s opening comments. Or polemic, as we should probably call it. Understandably narked with Jan Moir’s insidiously homophobic and innuendo-laden Daily Mail column about Stephen Gately’s death, he read it out almost line for line, with bitterly sarcastic commentary. A few asides were sharply funny, but that wasn’t really the issue: he had a point to make and if he couldn’t make it at his own gig, where could he? More message than comedy, but that’s what the acts are here to provide…

The rest of the line-up kicked off with a triptych of Manchester new acts being given the chance to shine, starting with the young and distinctive looking Red Redmond. In tartan trousers and black-and-white scarf, jagged crop of unruly ginger hair and tiny ukulele he certainly cuts a quirky, studenty figure.

Unfortunately, though idiosyncratic in manner, the material was less memorable, starting with an unambitiously crude songs featuring such juvenile rhyming couplets as ‘He made him cum/right up his bum’. This makes way for a routine about the aphorism: ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’, which is long-winded and unfocussed, and finally a ditty about Americans’ supposed lack of irony. A couple of lines here do come from an unexpected direction, but he largely struggles to get clear gags across succinctly.

Likeable Liam Timms also suffers from long-windedness, apparently oblivious to the fact that economy of words is crucial to comedy. His subjects, from movie trailers to Facebook, don’t inspire, and while he’s nice enough company, there needs to be more substance to his set.

Peter Brush has a couple of very nice lines, in the same inventive wordplay style as Milton Jones or Stewart Francis. Yet he often gets too obtuse and abstract, especially in the more extended jokes, making the audience struggle to follow his train of thought with too little reward if you did stick with him. But in the pithier moments, he certainly shows promise.

On, then, to the more established acts. I last saw Jonathan Paylor in this very room exactly three years ago, with an almost word-for-word identical set. That he’s stagnated in that time is disappointing, as there’s certainly room for improvement in a routine that’s moderately amusing, but far from perfect.

His angle that he is both gay and a football fan – and not once does he do an old switcheroo gag by making us think he’s talking about one of these traits when it’s really the other. Then there’s the reaction of his gay friends to his soccer obsession – preparing quiche for the big match – then obligatory gags about David Seaman’s surname. You might have thought the joke would have worn off in the 21 years since he made his England debut and five years since he retired from football altogether.

The rest of his set involves whining about things that are a bit rubbish and, well, chavvy: from Netto to baked bean pizzas in a routine that’s more about his dismissively deriding attitude than brilliantly-crafted punchlines, though there are a couple of fine jokes here. But despite a few tantalising glimpses of something deeper. there’s a tendency to settle for the easy, obvious sneers just as there’s a tendency to settle for this mid-level set.

Headliner Mick Ferry probably relies more on personality than material, too, though his stereotypically Northern attitude of revelling in the slightly disappointing nature of his ordinary life proves appealing. So it is tonight, as he bemoans the lot of the stand-up spending lonely, drunken nights in hotels, of the inertia that keeps him in a long-term relationship while daydreaming about his partner’s death, and about aging in general.

He wobbled on this last point, falsely believing the youngish crowd XS attracts from its location in Manchester’s studenty Fallowfield district wouldn’t be able to relate to a 41-year-old man.

But he needn’t worry, there’s nothing in his set that’s inaccessible – although his fears caused him to stray from his set pieces and, ironically, lose some of the crowd that way instead; and in the end a set running for around 45 minutes proved a little too much at the end of a longish night, and concentration flagged from performer and audience alike.

Javier Jarquin - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Ruth E Cockburn - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Toby Hadoke - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Chris Cairns - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Javier Jarquin - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Ruth E Cockburn - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Toby Hadoke - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.

Chris Cairns - Live Review

XS Malarkey, by overwhelming consensus Manchester’s best independent comedy club, has not long settled into its new home in a disused chapel in the studenty Fallowfields part of town.

It feels like an appropriate site, with a quirky, homespun ‘knit-your-own-organic-teabag’ atmosphere, but with enough professionalism to ensure sound, light and audience comfort is all just right.

The main thing that makes the night, though, is resident compere Toby Hadoke, who treats the paying punters like friends popping round his house for a chat – trying out new material with varying shades of success, but primarily creating at ambiance of relaxed, respectful bonhomie that has defined the club over the years.

He plays up the attitude of a mildly irascible middle-aged man, but he’s someone who just knows what he likes rather than being overtly angry at the world. He stresses the differences between XS and more corporate clubs, berating himself for the odd double entendre, though, of course, not holding back from doing them.

It builds up a supportive clique, and never more so than the section where he reluctantly handed out cheap prizes. By refusing to play along to the cheesiness of the idea, it becomes hilarious in its casualness.

Opening act was Javier Jarquin, a half-Latino, half-Chinese Kiwi. Cue predictable racist stereotypes about each half of his heritage and how they might conflict – a predictable, by-the-book approach he never really got beyond.

He can sometimes wring good jokes out of the over-used formula, though, as his bit about British store names attests, and he’s a robust, confident performer – perhaps learned in his other professional life as a magician. It all made for a solid, if uninspiring, set.

Andrew McGowan is a Robbie Williams impersonator in the Rochdale area, clearly taking advantage of XS’s genuinely open ‘open mic’ policy to make his first moves into comedy.

But he has a very restricted outlook of what modern stand-up entails. Generic jokes about Josef Fritzl and Fred West abound, with fast-decreasing returns, and when he told a gag about Jedward being ‘less popular than a gypsy’ you could hear a pin drop, as the last vestiges of support evaporated. Add flabby set-ups and old pub gags into the mix, and you have someone who’s still got a lot to learn about the comedy basics.

Ruth E Cockburn is an intriguing personality, adept and in control on stage but apparently racked by self-doubt and klutziness in real life. Her embarrassing stories have the ring of truth to them that makes the self-deprecation really work, and there are a good number of solid jokes here.

She’s not yet the finished article, as the different elements of her comedy and personality don’t always fit well together, but she’s eminently watchable, sympathetically flawed and quirky enough to be interesting. However, the closing song – ‘You’re Girlfriend’s A Minger’ – is old-fashioned and, frankly, a little dull. The rest of the set suggests she is better than this, and certainly has the potential to be a lot better.

Finally, late-booking headliner Chris Cairns, a large friendly Scouser who has so many years of experience in the business that he knows how to hold the room in rapt attention. He needs to, as well, as his pace is incredibly slow, and he spends a lot of time talking around a subject before settling on its punchline. The payoffs are usually strong, but not really worth the wait, which adds nothing to the tension.

The occasional turn of phrase nicely highlights the precise mundanity of his middle-aged, lazy life, but again he doesn’t exploit them particularly well, meandering around the subject with little concern where the next punchline might be. There’s definitely the feeling that he’s a comic who’s found his place on the circuit and is now doing the least he needs to do to get by. But with so many hungrier comedians coming up behind, such complacency doesn’t seem nearly enough.