Review by Julian Hall

If Aussie comic Dave Eastgate did indeed have a band it would be unlikely that, however tight an outfit they were, they would help paper over the fact that his Fringe show is pretty bass – sorry, base – and route one.

That said, Eastgate does his best to make up for a lack of bandmates by being as raucous and rock n' roll as he can be, starting with his intro where every word or noise is screeched a la Aerosmith's Steve Tyler. Clearly, pumping energy in a room is not something this comic needs to be reminded to do.

Yes, Eastgate certainly knows how to make an impression, strutting his stuff in a bandana, Poison T-shirt, Iron Maiden cut-off jean jerkin, and gold Spandex pants. To complete this vision, a skull and crossbones scarf hangs down from one of his guitars. Meanwhile, the late-night crowd are obviously a good demographic for Eastgate's stereotypical posturing and respond in Pavlovian fashion to mentions of boobies, male essence and so forth.

It's not all about the lowest common denominator, however, although when he branches out to riffs on modern love as played out on Facebook, avoiding skin cancer by over-exposure to the sun and religion, the level of lyrical complexity or dexterity doesn't vary much. The odd line stands out, but often the lyrical melee lacks focus.

The big opportunity missed here was to build a character with a better back story. Colour about Eastgate's family and his comfortable upbringing does come through but not sufficiently so. When his Gold Coast origins are mentioned he tries to match this privilege with gangsta rap street credentials. It's a good contrast, but it's a fleeting set-up and abandoned as quickly as his previous set-ups including his time spent as a ninja, a rather more throwaway idea… although that might explain his ability to high-kick.

If only as much effort was put into the writing as was  expended on strutting, kicking and posturing.

Review date: 6 Aug 2011
Reviewed by: Julian Hall