Daniel Kitson, Where Once was Wonder, Melbourne Arts Centre

From the opening seconds of Daniel Kitson’s latest show, Where Once Was Wonder, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that something has changed. Your senses are taking it in, but something just doesn’t seem right. This is a Daniel Kitson show isn’t it? So isn’t that… I mean is that… am I really… could that actually be … is that dance music? Why yes it is. Well, LCD Soundsystem’s Losing My Edge, anyway.



Gone, the gentle indie-tastic Candle Records musical backdrops that welcomed people to Kitson shows of yore, replaced by acerbic beats and James Murphy fretting about being overtaken by ‘better looking people with better ideas and more talent.’ Yet as a precursor of what’s to come it is a stroke of bleeping genius.


What follows is a blistering opening half hour from an unfamiliar looking Kitson – beardless and with his head shaved – which includes pompous attacks on the audience, comedy fans, his own fans and especially his fellow comedians. Swearing is unrestrained and outrageous statements start to stack up, with laughter accompanied by some uncomfortable fidgeting and sharp intakes of breath amongst the packed and noticeably varied crowd.


Given it’s written on the poster I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by saying that the show is built around three unconnected stories, none of which are ever fully finished and one that involves the decapitation of a small pig. However, each deals in their own way with small unexpected twists of destiny that lead to the unlikely becoming not just possible, but utterly inevitable. It will come as no surprise to those who have seen him before that Kitson finds quixotic beauty in these tales, evoking the romance and even turning a self-administered haircut into a noble act.


It would be improper of me to say how this beauty impacts on the closing half hour of a 90 minute set, or how that relates to his vicious opening polemic. Still, it’s fair to say that it was a thrill to hear gentle isolated chuckles slowly snowballing into a roaring Playhouse as pennies dropped about another thrilling act of Kitson chutzpah.


A misguided and factually-lacking review in The Age this weekend suggested that of Where Once Was Wonder represented Kitson returning to the ‘conventional stand up he has spent years retreating from,’ dismissing the evening as ‘a strange combination of dick jokes and intellectual arrogance.’ I’ll admit that I’m a fan of his work*, but I hope nobody bases their decision to go and see this show on those words. There is little that is conventional about Daniel Kitson’s work; stand up or theatrical, which is why he remains the draw card at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival year after year. Losing his edge? Watching Where Once Was Wonder you get the feeling he’s only just started.

Daniel Kitson’s Where Once Was Wonder is on at the Playhouse at Melbourne Arts Centre until 15 April. Tickets $25.


* “then it became a wider thing about people who grip onto other people’s creations like they are their own” – James Murphy on LCD Soundsystem’s Losing My Edge.

Sorry about that.

Make Em Laugh

It's Melbourne International Comedy Festival time here in Australia and Centrelinked tried to celebrate by putting together two hours of funny songs. The problem is that one man's funny is another woman's fingers-on-blackboard, with some songs by comedians excruciatingly unfunny and some very serious songs horrifically hilarious. So, armed only with a vague notion of songs that try and give people a chuckle here's what we ended up with this week: 


The Young Ones theme
Eat It - Weird Al Yankovic
Stutter Rap - Morris Minor and the Majors
Ernie (The Fastest Milkman in the West) - Benny Hill
Mahna Mahna - The Muppets

The Court of King Caractacus - Rolf Harris

We're Both in Love with a Sexy Lady - Flight of the Conchords
This Poem Sucks (Harriet) - Mike Myers (from So I Married and Axe Murderer)
Tram Inspector - the Bedroom Philosopher
Cows with Guns - Dana Lyons
24 Hour Garage People - Half Man Half Biscuit
The Ballad of Freda and Barry - Victoria Wood
Don't Put Your Daughter on the Stage Mrs Worthington - Noel Coward
You're Just Too Hip Baby - Dave Graney
Becoming More Like Alfie - Divine Comedy
Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me - Rocky Horror Picture Show Original Cast
Money, Money - Liza Minelli and Joel Grey (from Cabaret)
A Lil' Ole Bitty Pissant Country Place - Dolly Parton (The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas)
Hold My Hand - The Rutles
Eric the Half a Bee - Monty Python
The Intro and the Outro - the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band
Love Life - The Rutles
Bedazzled - Drimble Wedge and the Vegetations (Peter Cook and Dudley Moore)
Montage  - Team America World Police
The Riddler - Mel Torme
The Pub With No Beer - Slim Dusty
Preposterous Tales - I, Ludicrous
Right Said Fred - Bernard Cribbins
I'm Too Sexy - Right Said Fred
Barbie Girl - Aqua
Shaddup Ya Face - Joe Dolce
Ain't No Greens in Harlem - The Vibrations
I Remember Punk Rock - Vic Reeves
The Majesty of Rock - Spinal Tap
Bring Me Sunshine - Morecambe and Wise


Although I had an extra hour, I still ran out of time to play these:


I Wanna be Straight - Ian Dury and the Blockheads
Bad Babysitter - Princess Superstar
Thou Shalt Always Kill - Dan le Sac and Scoobius Pip
Metaphor - Sparks
Ello John, Got a New Motor - Alexei Sayle
Hole in My Shoe - Neil
Austin Ambassador Y Reg - John Shuttleworth (yes, again - sorry Graham)
Jilted John - Jilted John
Panic Plants - The Lovely Eggs
The Queen is Dead - the Smiths
Formed a Band - Art Brut
I Can't Forget - Leonard Cohen
Why is it Always Dairy Lea? - the Shirehorses 


If you'd like to chuck in your tuppenceworth about songs that make you laugh I'd love to hear from you in the comments bit below. 


AFL returns to 98.9 North West FM next weekend so Centrelinked has a new starting time of 11am on Saturdays. Tune in on your Melbourne wireless or via http://www.northwestfm.org/ 

MICF - Did I Miss My Deadline?

The Melbourne International Comedy Festival is, in my humble opinion, the very best thing about living in this fair city. Coming at the start of autumn it provides the perfect distraction to the fact that Victoria is about to be plunged into six months of dark and reliably bad weather. It offers opportunities for four weeks of wildly varied nights out in the company of all comedians great and small, from 20 seat cupboards to the glittering stages of some of Melbourne's most beautiful theatres.


Despite this, 2011 passed me by somewhat. Bereft of cash, busy at work and lacking real insight into who were the must-sees of a relatively superstar-free roster I only got to six shows this year, which is pitiful really. Comedians of the world, I'm sorry. I promise to do better next year. That said, the six shows I did see only reinforced how lucky we are to have MICF on our door step, starting with...


Josh Earl's Love Songs and Dedications. For a man who did his entire run at the Trades Hall in the knowledge that that his heavily pregnant wife could deliver their first child at any second, Josh Earl's seventh year at MICF was remarkably entertaining. Loosely themed around late night radio sensation the Love God's Love Song Dedications - in which slightly deranged callers try and impress/win back the loves of their lives by requesting Mariah Carey songs and Bon Jovi ballads - the source material alone was a comedy gold mine.


Thankfully there is much more to Josh Earl than easy parody and the Love God's show was just a springboard to a dissection of some of the less celebrated aspects of modern romance. If I tell you these include digital prostate stimulation or toilet tag-teaming during a bout of mutual gastro, you'll know what i mean. As he proved with last year's highly popular Josh Earl versus the Australian Women's Weekly Childrens Birthday Cake Book part of Josh's appeal is his every (indie) man personality and boy-next-door charm. Despite some scatological subject matter, songs comparing sex with baking, and admitting to your partner that the pinnacle of romance is to be merely content, everyone I went with still wanted to give him a hug at the end. For more info on Josh check out @mrjoshearl on Tw*tter or http://www.myspace.com/joshearlisalibrarian.


Sanderson Jones - Taking Liberties. After being spruiked in the street I made a solemn promise to Sanderson Jones' face last year that I would attend his show. Then I got sick and didn't go. On that basis alone I was pleased that the English comedian came back this year for another run at the Bull and Bear in Flinders Lane.

Mr Jones is known to some in the UK from a series of IKEA adverts and to others for the controversy about his 2010 Edinburgh show in which he talked about the morals of censorship using a picture of a naked 12 year old Brooke Shields. I'm not sure if we got exactly the same show here - the Shields picture played only a small part in the show - but the themes of freedom of speech were represented in ways that those present will likely never forget. Certainly my innocent eyes were opened to the horrors of the 21st century through exposure to chat roulette, a seemingly consensual peeping tom for online onanists. To reveal more would risk spoiling a shocking yet genuinely funny routine, with Sanderson gleefully egging everyone on like some deranged Gene Wilder; a modern day Willy Wanka.


Constantly juggling being edgy with not alienating the crowd is a difficult ask, and one that wasn't always successful. Still, fair play to him for not playing safe at any point - especially as this was a pay-as-you-leave show. There is intelligence and subtlety to Sanderson Jones' comedy, from the PowerPoint presentations to the small video montages, and whilst some of it was lost in the mania of presentation, there is more than enough to suggest a bright future for Mr Jones.


Lisa Fineberg - Mermaids Can't Ride Bikes. I knew nothing about Lisa Fineberg before her show started other than that she used to be a professional mermaid and that, despite being 29, she can't ride a bike. This seemed like a reasonable premise to me, so I sat in a relatively full Loop Bar back room and waited to hear the tale of her tail.


Sadly Lisa never seemed quite sure what she wanted her 45 minute show to be. It wasn't clear whether her bright and beaming toothpaste smile and giggling into space was part of a carefully constructed ditzy mermaid routine or (as suggested by a PowerPoint presentation of Lisa and family playing dress ups over the years and a proudly displayed collection of turquoise clothes, bedroom, toys, and a rather-too-swish car) if her message was simply 'I'm a bit kooky aren't I?'

Whatever the truth it was hard to get an angle on what was real and what was being played for laughs. There was some genuine laughs when the starstruck Ariel act was dropped to talk about working as a supply teacher, but they were quickly forgotten. It didn't help Lisa's cause that the biggest laughs came from people helping her with her show - including celebrity friend John Safran who was present both in a pre-recorded video and in the audience.

I've since learned that this was Lisa's first MICF show, so due credit for giving something a go. Hopefully there will be a little more of the real Lisa next time around.

Michael Williams - Our Princess is in Another Castle As another relative comedy newcomer, Warrnambool's Michael Williams has no such identity problems. Michael is, unapologetically, a pizza munching, chip crunching couch-dwelling gamer. Not that there's anything wrong with that because his 20 years of console addiction has led to this Pac-Man power-pellet of a show.

Williams' mission for the evening is to show us that if you scratch the surface of life, everything's a game really. He illustrates his point by walking us through his own arcade version of the Life of Michael, detailing his attempts to get a job, score a girlfriend and leave Warrnambool to become a successful comedian. This is all done by - you guessed it - a PowerPoint presentation. Fortunately a combination of personalised Atari and Nintendo-style graphics presented on a huge old television and some dry self-depreciation mean the story is delivered with some genuine down-to-earth charm. It's likely that some more energy in the delivery might have been required without the television to rely on, but for the purposes of tonight's show it's mostly spot on.

I read a criticism online that Our Princess is in Another Castle (a reference to early video game quests to rescus damsels in distress) show wasn't nerdy enough, with too many references to games that are broadly known by the general public. That misses the point somewhat as I suspect a show directed squarely at gamers would have had an audience of three. Williams gift, despite a youth spent behind closed curtains with only a glowing cathode ray and a game controller for company, was to engage gamers and non-gamers alike in a story that everyone could relate to. For that alone he deserves a power-up and an eccy man.

Daniel Kitson - The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church As subjective as comedy is, there are still some facts out there. Farts are always funny; being unnecessarily mean to people is not; gender does not affect how funny people are; comedians who do it for fame and money should give up now. This last point brings me to my own personal number one comedy fact: no one is better at standing on a stage and making people laugh than Daniel Kitson.

As a man who avoids appearing on television, turns down the majority of interviews and mostly advertises his shows through a mailing list and word of mouth it would be hard to accuse Kitson of being in the comedy game for anything other than love of what he does. He has genuine pride in and affection for each show he does, as displayed by his methodological approach to bringing each new creation around the world for people to see. It may take time (Gregory Church was first aired at Edinburgh in 2009) but better to wait til the show can be performed to its very best than agreeing to a promoter-driven soul-sapping endless run.

It should come as no surprise that the Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is superb. Although firmly promoted as another of Kitson's one-man-show theatre pieces rather than stand-up, Kitson is now so adept at his craft that the lines are being erased. A five-minute rambling intro piece about the show segues so seamlessly into the show itself that it's hard to remember where fact and fiction became separated.

The story itself revolves around Kitson's (alledged) discovery of several boxes of letters in a loft, all written by the eponymous hero over many years, including a series of suicide notes addressed to various acquaintances. Through these letters and the ones that follow, Kitson takes us on a Time Team-like journey of discovery - digging deeper into Gregory's life. Kitson uses his own absorbtion with the unfolding story that he read to tell the tale in flashbacks, effortlessly weaving real facts, invented facts and Gregory's facts into a perfect picture. It's even more impressive that after performing countless runs of the show he still seems excited when we collectively reach the Poirot-moment of dedection and realisation about the true nature of Gregory Church's fate.

According to a 2009 interview with the ABC's Jon Faine, Daniel has a collection of recorded material from all his shows, including this one. The problem is he can't be arsed sorting through them all to do anything with them, preferring to concentrate his efforts on the here and now. For those who missed this latest masterpiece, start hoping he decides to take some time off to do some editing. And don't let anyone spoil it for you; it's more than worth the wait.

The Bedroom Philosopher: Wit-Bix

Some 10 days after it started, I finally got to see a Melbourne International Comedy Festival show at the weekend. My plans for another month of dawn to dusk comedy coverage were scuppered by the unexpected and distinctly unpleasant arrival of a $2000 bill from the Australian Taxation Office. Apologies to impoverished comedians and under-attended shows everywhere; blame ‘The Man’.

Fittingly my first 2011 show was Wit-Bix by the Bedroom Philosopher, the person responsible for my favourite MICF moment last year: Songs from the 86 Tram. Whilst that was a poignant snapshot of Melbourne society, brought to life through clever songs and artfully observed characters, Wit-Bix is akin to watching the accompanying bloopers on DVD. If 86 Tram was Smoke, here is its Blue in The Face.

Loose and shambolic where 86 Tram was carefully structured and multi-layered; Wit-Bix has no narrative, no over-riding theme, and regularly makes no sense at all. There are still funny and lovely little songs – including a couple of numbers ably backed by his Awkwardstra – but they have little in common beyond displaying the Philosopher’s knack for musical diversity. If any of this sounds like a bad thing, please be assured that it is not. The change of pace and format reveals a whole lot more about Justin Heazlewood (the man behind the specs) than Songs from the 86 Tram allowed for. Some is a little predictable – mini-rants about bogans and jokes-by-numbers comedians offer nothing new – but the rest is a series of left and right turns, each highlighting a different angle of the Philosopher’s comedy philosophy.

Long term fans of Lime Champions might have expected the cute, semi-tragic interplay between two laptops with male and female Stephen Hawking voices or the big band-esque number about getting a new hairdresser. I suspect they might not have anticipated the creative use of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game and a tray of kitty litter that is worth the entrance fee alone.

It’s fair to say that a few in the audience found the diversity a bit much. A painfully honest stab at addressing guilty feelings about indigenous Australians was clearly a bit serious for some of the Saturday night crowd who seemed curiously more at ease watching their host almost impale himself on a snare drum when some showing off seemed to go horribly wrong. It’s a sign of the random nature of the night when it’s unclear whether that was some Jackass / Jacques Tati slapstick or just our host being a bit enthusiastic and un-co.

There’s no doubt that ‘Beddy Phil’ (his new P-Diddy-esque street moniker) trades on being an awkward margin-dweller and Wit-Bix certainly highlights the pros and cons of that approach. He may never get to write 'as seen on Good News Week and Spicks n Specks' on his posters, but for those of who see that as a good thing he will always be compulsive viewing.

The Bedroom Philosopher’s Wit-Bix is on at the Melbourne Trades Hall, Corner of Lygon and Victoria Sreets, Carlton until 24 April 2011. Times Tues-Sat 9.30pm, Sun 8.30pm.

Dan or be Danned

There was a time, not so long ago, when just about every post on Mint Custard was announcing some Daniel Kitson show or other. In a way it’s been nice not to have to try and keep up, but then again it has now been a whole year since my dark corner of the world was brightened by Kitson’s little miner’s hat lamp of comedy.

Anyway, the good news is that Daniel’s long promised Edinburgh 2009 show The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is finally here. In the vein of his C-90 and 66a Church Road, this is a theatre piece rather than stand up. This isn’t to say it won’t be funny but judging by the blurb there will also likely be dollops of poignant, pithy and portentousness:

Gregory had fifty seven letters to write. He’d never written that many letters, not in one go. In fact, he’d never written a single letter and it was taking significantly longer than he’d anticipated. He’d started, full of optimism, curiously enough, at 9 am and now here he was 8 hours later half way through letter twenty four. He glanced at his watch and then at the noose hanging over his head.

Gregory sighed. Had he known how long suicide letters take, he thought, he wouldn’t have cancelled the milk for the morning.

The story of a death postponed by life.

Having already played in New York and certain corners of the UK, The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is in Australia and New Zealand from now until April 2011 and will be followed by another jaunt around the UK in May. Dates, details and web-links for tickets are below, assuming I haven’t cocked them up. Which is possible.

AUSTRALIA/NZ

24-25 Feb Darwin, Browns Mart Theatre

28 Feb–2 Mar Brisbane, Powerhouse

4-6 Mar Adelaide, Town Hall

8–12 Mar Auckland, Herald Theatre

15–26 Mar Sydney, Seymour Centre

12-24 April Melbourne, Fairfax Studio, Arts Centre

26-27 April Perth, Octagon Theatre

UK

3–4 May Brighton, Pavillion Theatre

6 May Durham, Gala Theatre

7 May Sheffield, Crucible Theatre

10 May Lincoln, Drill Hall

11 May Birmingham, MAC

12 May Bath, Ustinov Studio

16 May Norwich, Arts Centre

18 May Scarborough, Stephen Joseph Theatre

19-20 May Edinburgh, Traverse Theatre

21–23 May Bristol, Tobacco Factory

26 May Newbury, Corn Exchange

28 May Hull, Hull Truck Theatre

30 May Nottingham, Playhouse

31 May Manchester, Royal Exchange

For us Melbourne folk, Kitson’s show is taking place as part of the 2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival, the program for which is launched this Saturday. A cursory glance through list of shows acts on the website suggests an absence of star names this year, which is a shame in terms of generating casual excitement. Still, given many of my favourite shows in 2010 were by local acts perhaps it just means a cheaper March and April than I’d anticipated.

Stay tuned for reviews and news about the festival, and please please please please - if you have any suggestions for me to go and see or if you’re a local act and want to talk about your show for the benefit of all 3 regular Mint Custard readers feel free to leave a comment, or email me at mintcustard@gmail.com. T’ra.

Philosophisation across the Nation

Good news for anyone who couldn’t get to Melbourne during the Comedy Festival this year – one of the best acts in this particular town is coming to a venue near you. Possibly. The Bedroom Philosopher’s Songs from the 86 Tram was one of my highlights at this year’s MICF (see my gushing review here) and with an album of the show’s songs now on record store shelves he’s off touring it around Australia.

The Philosopher’s potent blend of comedy and music has nice habit of going viral amongst You-Tubists and you can see why from clips like this one for Northcote (So Hungover)…

You enjoy that? Good. I told you so. Now go see him. Gigs and venues are as follows:

August

• 12: Jive Bar, Adelaide (SA) 8pm
• 13: Hotel New York, Launceston (TAS) 8pm
• 14: Brisbane Hotel, Hobart 3pm all ages and 8pm (TAS)
• 15: Burnie Arts Theatre (TAS) 3pm
• 18: ANU Bar, Canberra (ACT)
• 19: Harpe Hotel, Wollongong (NSW)
• 20: The Factory, Sydney (all ages) (NSW)
• 21: The Northern Star, Newcastle (NSW)
• 22: The Brass Monkey, Cronulla (NSW)
• 25: Indi Bar, Scarborough (WA)
• 26: Prince Of Wales, Bunbury (WA)
• 27: Rocket Room, Northbridge (WA)
• 28: The Troubadour, Brisbane (QLD)
• 29: Old Museum, Brisbane (all ages 12:30pm) (QLD)
• 29: Great Northern, Byron Bay (NSW)

September

• 1: Karova Lounge, Ballarat (VIC)
• 2: National Hotel, Geelong (VIC)
• 3: The Palais, Hepburn Springs (VIC)
• 4: Northcote Social Club, Melbourne (VIC)
• 5: Spanish Club, Melbourne (all ages 12:30pm) (VIC)
• 5: Northcote Social Club, Melbourne (VIC)

Tickets for all shows are between $10 and $20 and are available from gobookem.com. Support comes from a range of players including Pinky Beecroft and the White Russians, Cookie Baker, the Stoics, Agent Fontaine, the New Saxons, the Boat People, Gilroy and the Cold Shoulders, Stereo Flower, Steve Grady, Go Go Sapien and Stonefield. See the Bedroom Philosopher’s own website for more details on exactly who is playing where and when…

The Circus is Leaving Town

I know that no-one reads yesterday's papers but unlike Morrissey I would like to finish something that I've started and bring you up to date with the shows I saw in the final week of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. In a firesale clearance sale of a posting I've also included some souvenir photos I took during the festival to gaze wistfully at for the next eleven and a half months...

Felicity Ward reads from the Book of Moron, Melbourne Town Hall

I suppose it had to happen at some point but Felicity Ward reads from the Book of Moron was the only show I saw at the festival that I didn’t enjoy.

Based around a slightly incongruous notion that the well-spoken and professional Ms Ward is the worst kind of incompetent, much of the night was spent listening to our host reading stories of alleged social ineptitude from a big book. Sadly the tales – whilst amusing enough - didn’t pack much comedy punch, nor did they convince that Felicity is any more moronic than the rest of us. Losing your bikini top or getting stoned at drama class might make amusing dinner party anecdotes, but they aren’t enough to base a show on.

Her cause wasn’t helped by a decision to adopt a hammy theatrical approach - perhaps influenced by her television work on the Ronnie Johns Half Hour. What we were left with was a slightly self-congratulatory performance that had been rehearsed and polished to within an inch of its life, stripping it of any personality. This was reinforced when she handed out glossy copies of the Book of Moron after the show, the stories reprinted word for word including all the improvised exchanges with the audience.

If theatrical comedy is your thing then there are pleasures to be had. Felicity is clearly a talented performer but for me this show would have benefitted if she’d turned down the acting and let herself shine through more.

Felicty Ward is current performing at the Basement in Auckland as part of the 2010 New Zealand Comedy Festival...

Jamie Kilstein - Revenge of the Serfs, Victoria Hotel

I hadn’t heard of him before but motivated by a wonderful interview on Alan Brough’s ABC 774 show I turned up at the Victoria Hotel to see New Yorker Jamie Kilstein for some perspective on post-Obama America. I was duly served, but what I didn’t anticipate was being a front row witness to feats of extreme physical endeavour.

Kilstein has justly been labelled as the heir apparent to Bill Hicks’s throne of polemic. His conservative baiting, hypocrisy deflating, anti-religious themes are highly informed and articulately delivered with the right amount of intelligence, contempt and humour which is hard not to like. What the Hicks comparisons miss are Jamie’s impressive outpourings of physical and mental energy which see him transform from politicised stoner kid into a veins-throbbing-megaphone-wielding-stream-of-consciousness modern day Gil Scott Heron.

Kilstein’s performance is akin to watching a rapper in full flow; a deep intake of breath and then out it comes, a raging torrent of information and explanation and inspiration, no rhymes but perfect rhythm, breathing as controlled as an Olympic swimmer. Imagine The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart possessed by the spirit of Abdominal (check out his Vicious Battle Raps with DJ Format for a taste), the articulacy of John Cooper Clarke and the neck veins of Henry Rollins and you’re getting there.

If this sounds a little too political for you then a) you’re probably exactly the kind of person that should go and see his shows and b) don’t panic because Kilstein is first and foremost a very funny guy. His anti-religion soap-boxing was delivered using Eddie Izzard-levels of absurdity whilst a lengthy but rewarding piece about his changing relationship with his dad might have drifted from the show’s theme but it showed great self-awareness and added a bit of the personal to his political.

Revenge of the Serfs was one of the big highlights of my festival. I’d urge anyone to see Jamie Kilstein perform – not just to channel some of your grumbling into something more interesting and productive but to be impressed and, if I may get all NYC on y’all - laugh your frickin’ ass off.

Visit Jamie’s MySpace page here. Alternatively check out the We Are Citizen Radio site which he runs with Allison Kilkenny (“it’s like CNN with more swearing”)

Phil Nicol - Bobby Spade, a Deadpan Poet sings Quiet Songs Quietly, Bosco Tent

For the first five minutes of Phil Nicol’s performance as psychotic Rat Pack wannabe Bobby Spade I thought I’d made a terrible error of judgement. Bobby’s ego was uncomfortably big, his self-aggrandising disproportionate to the quality of his lines and the sound of his two-piece band drowned out any subtleties that might have been present. What was I doing here? Yet by the end I was convinced I’d seen a comic genius deliver a brilliantly inventive idea with infectious energy, wild enthusiasm and a delicious smack of what the fuck?

What happened in that hour would be unfair to relate in full, after all a nice twist is a nice twist. Still I think it’s OK to say that Bobby was an unexpected step up (and one to the side) from other white-suited lounge singers (that includes you Tony Ferrino). The central premise may be familiar but there is nothing old hat about Bobby. Coming across like a be-suited Ian Dury equipped with Rik Mayall’s glaring eyes, Nicol’s portrayal of the mental and physical disintegration of Bobby Spade is something to behold; as unnerving as it is hilarious.

Assisted by his band The Ghosts (Banquo and Casper, naturally) Bobby delivers songs and poems in a range of styles including an ode to deaf-blind Helen Keller’s husband (‘his tastebuds didn’t work; theirs was a senseless relationship’), a country ballad comparing albino cowboys with giant hairless rabbits and an ancient Scottish hymn about piss-flaps. Things mostly degenerate from there, with tales of degenerate monkeys ‘jizzing on my windscreen’ and primitive sexual awakenings (ahem) fingering his mother.

Along the way Spade takes to stopping mid-sentence to verbally attack or hug people in the audience, rant incomprehensibly or just start crying. As momentum builds you get the sense that it might be heading somewhere but even when you finally figure it out it’s still immensely satisfying.

After my Felicity Ward experience I wasn’t sure if theatrical comedy was for me. Thankfully A Deadpan Poet sings Quiet Songs Quietly was one of those rare shows that are so good they force you to change your mind about what it is that makes you laugh – and after three weeks of festival that’s no mean feat.

Sadly there’s no official Phil Nicol website but take a peak at his profile site here.

Tim Key - the Slutcracker, Melbourne Town Hall

So to the end, and my last show was one of the first on my list way back when; Tim Key’s highly decorated Edinburgh success, the Slutcracker. And what a lovely ghost to leave wandering about my mind until next year…

Slutcracker (if there was a reason behind the name I totally missed it, sorry) was a beautifully understated piece that sucked me in from the get-go. From the moment the doors closed then reopened again to reveal a slightly bewildered, carrier-bag laden Key in a tracksuit top it was clear that we were going to be a slightly different hour. As far from the manic energy of Messrs Kilstein and Nicol as it is possible to be, Key’s performance was so subtle some in the audience seemed to struggle with the idea that he really did know what was going on.

After changing offstage into an ill-fitting second hand suit (and making us wait whilst he did so) Key seemingly remembered to talk to the audience. Serving up haikus and short poems covering African savannah carnage, self-Googling and several uncomplimentary examples of Mr Key Snr’s ability to deal with technology or the modern world (‘what a dick…’) much of the show was delivered conversationally, as if he’d only just thought of it or was making up ways to fill the silence. As if to emphasise that there could be a point to it all, the show’s ‘structure’ (a page of overhead projector paper filled at random with hundreds of unrelated words) was shared. Words were then crossed out one by one as he ticked them off as done.

We were treated to several short films of increasing pointlessness involving a bearded Tim in mysterious outdoor locations (if you’ve seen any of the Smell of Reeves and Mortimer you’ll know the type). This was balanced by a generous amount of audience participation - the most I saw during the festival and yet the least cheesy. One man was nominated to hold Tim’s pint of bitter all evening, whilst people in the front ten rows were asked to assist Key cross the room back to the stage without touching the floor. This involved him standing barefoot in a Sara Lee cake and then putting his shoes back on whilst another member of the audience deposited him on a large antique fridge whilst we all cheered. Obviously.

Imagine going to the hairdressers and having someone wash your hair only to find out they were using trifle instead of shampoo. If the idea makes you smile more than it makes you angry then you'll probably like Tim Key. To describe anymore would be to risk spoiling something beautiful so like Key I'll gather my things in a carrier bag and nick off before anyone realises what's going on. For more Tim Key visit his marvellous website here.

Anyway, that's it. Bye for now Comedy Festival, you were ace. Miss you aready...

The Bedroom Philosopher, Songs from the 86 Tram, Victoria Hotel

Warning: this review contains genuine sincerity that might cause distress in some readers. Sorry about that... I was a bit moved. It won’t happen again.

Several times over the past few weeks I’ve heard comedians speak about what it means to them to do the job they do. There have been tales of personal sacrifice, promising careers abandoned, doting parents alarmed, heckles, empty rooms, relentless and often fruitless promotion. Despite all this people are drawn to perform, to get up on stage and try and make people laugh. Or at least smile. Or maybe just not hate them. Too much.

Yet at his recent show New Yorker Jamie Kilstein remarked that no one in America becomes a comedian in order to be a comedian. It’s just a means to an end; a stepping stone to television or Hollywood, rarely a job in itself. It would be understandable if this was the case in Australia too. Not only is there an obvious lack of opportunities to springboard from the appreciating bosom of events like MICF and the Sydney Arts Festival but sometimes just getting a bit of appreciation for what you do can be hard.

Take Melbourne’s own Bedroom Philosopher for example and his show, Songs from the 86 Tram. It’s based around a deceptively simple idea – describing the journey of the (real) 86 tram from Bundoora in Melbourne’s north to Docklands and the microcosm of society that travels together along its length every day. Yet rather than being an hour of cheap gags and condescending impressions of fellow travellers, Songs from the 86 Tram is a curiously poignant celebration of Melbourne life.

The show itself is a mixture of theatre, music and performance held together by a seen-it-all-done-it-all tram driver who talks to the audience through the onboard tannoy. He leads stop-by-stop through Melbourne’s inner north, with mounting passengers brought to life through song. Confused pensioners, disillusioned backpackers, clueless hipsters, over-sexed ticket inspectors, egotistical office workers, African immigrants and bourbon-and-coke addled bogans all share the journey and the spotlight – some more sympathetically than others.

If this all sounds a bit serious don’t worry - it’s also very, very funny. Clueless hipsters, mums with prams and new media workers all cop it good and there is a memorable appearance by an unflattering singlet. It’s just that rather than playing everything for easy laughs the Philosopher (Justin Hazelwood to him mum and friends) looks deeper into the motives of his fellow travellers and comes up with something far richer and altogether more special.

Perhaps it’s because the Melbourne described by the Philosopher is already changing thanks to the insanity of the property bubble, or simply because the 86 was my tram when I first moved here. Either way, Songs from the 86 Tram feels as important as something like John Brack’s famous painting of Melbourne commuter life, Collins Street 5pm.

It’s nice to think that Songs from the 86 Tram might be appreciated half a century from now with a similar kind of enthusiasm to Mr Bracks’ snapshot of Melbourne on the move, although sadly somehow I doubt it. Not only because stand-up comedy’s will'o the wisp ephemeral qualities deny it the same appreciation as other art forms, but because even when placed in context of the 2010 Melbourne International Comedy Festival the critics preferred a show about a penis-shaped puppet and the popular vote went for someone they knew off the telly.

I didn’t see either of those shows, so maybe they were better (whatever that means). Still I doubt that either of them really meant anything. Intended or not with Songs from the 86 Tram Justin Hazelwood not only made us laugh (that is after all why we are here) but in doing so he captured a moment – this moment – with a snapshot of how wonderful and strange and diverse and funny this city can be in 2010. Bedroom philosophy maybe, but at this year’s festival there was none so true.

Visit the excellent Bedroom Philosopher website here and buy the music of Songs from the 86 Tram here.

Josie Long's Supper Club Bake-Off

Just some pictures to share with you from a highly pleasant Saturday afternoon in the Bosco Tent for Josie Long’s Supper Club Bake-Off. Mostly an excuse to make, talk about, joke about and eat cakes of all colours, ethnic backgrounds, sexual persuasions and dietary requirements it was also a nice chance to meet some of the folks who’ve been making us laugh these past few weeks.

The rules of attendence were simple; bake cake, bring cake, get in cheap, share cake with cake-loving strangers and comedians. Mrs Custard knocked up her world-beating brownies, Ms K made her trademark lime and coconut cake whilst I brought a particularly luminescent batch of mint custard. Not cake admittedly but it got me past the guards.

Ms Josie Long, gluten intolerant comedian extraordinaire

Josie’s enthusiastic hosting duties (‘just look at that fucking cake!’) were punctuated by some cake-themed routines from guest comedians including Maeve Higgins, Josh Earl and the gorgeous Sarah Millican who signed my illegally imported cheese and onion pasty paper bag with the legend ‘I miss Gregg’s too’.

Mr Josh Earl being berated by a disgruntled pirate

Cake judging was undertaken by a mystery-celebrity panel that included a surprise appearance from Mint Custard favourite Isy Suttie (who was completely lovely afterwards and also signed my pasty bag) and possibly included Claudia O’Doherty and Nick Coyle. I may be wrong though – they were disguised with elaborate yellow cardboard crowns.

the Mayor of Cake holds court

Looking back it was perhaps inevitable that the awards would be dominated by young ladies in cardigans and vintage dresses and too much time for craft on their hands. Still I will say that judging processes based on looks rather than taste set dangerous precedents for progressive ideologically-orientated comedians. It’s what we are on the inside that counts isn’t it? Of course it is (although personally speaking what I was on the inside, at least a few hours on Saturday evening, was full of cake).

the winner - muffin/brownie burger treats!

Scrabble cake and Josie-inspired Hallmark card message cake

'best effort' winner - note spectacular bean juice

Josie Long's Be Honourable is on at the Bosco Tent until Sunday. Read her Melbourne Comedy Festival Blog here

Ivan Brackenbury's Hospital Radio Roadshow, Elephant and Wheelbarrow, Melbourne

I’m sure I’m not the first festival virgin to ask myself what it is that makes me laugh. Many years back Mrs Custard and I watched Jam, the television adaptation of Chris Morris’ late-nineties graveyard shift radio show, Blue Jam. Disturbing themes (child abuse, murder, incest, corrupt medical practitioners, sexual deviance), inventive use of sound, distorted lenses and uncomfortable camera angles and amazing performances by some of the best comic actors in television (including Amelia Bullmore, Julia Davis, Kevin Eldon and Mark Heap) created something fiercely intelligent that was as frightening as it was funny; more horrific than hilarious. I loved it... but I didn’t laugh much.

The same week we watched Max and Paddy’s Road to Nowhere, Peter Kay’s mostly average spin-off from Phoenix Nights about a couple of bouncers touring the UK in a campervan. Big but not clever, Max and Paddy take the all the lowest common denominators from its parent show (porn, drinking, shagging, going on the pull… more porn) and proudly project them on their giant knock-off plasma screen telly. One episode featured a farting pig, which – and I’m not proud of myself here – killed me. In a heap on the floor with tears streaming from my eyes I was left wondering why a badly-squeezed whoopee cushion and the line ‘how dare you, this is our mobile home’ could paralyse me in a way that three hours of immaculately crafted cutting edge comedy could not.

I left the Elephant and Wheelbarrow last night in a similar state after seeing Ivan Brackenbury's Hospital Radio Roadshow. In three week’s of MICF shows I’ve seen clever, inspired and inspiring, witty, well-observed, surreal, original, sharp, occasionally flat, lots of funny, and a fair bit of hilarious - but nothing that left me with tears drying on my face from an hour’s worth of laughing my bottom off. Nothing that is, until dear Ivan.

Moulded in the same factory as the Wiggles and Eighties UK children’s television star Timmy Mallet, hospital radio DJ Ivan Brackenbury is an over-enthusiastic camp man-child with a microphone, a laptop full of jingles and chart hits and a few community service announcements to get through. Dressed in dirty tracksuit pants (pulled up too high), baseball cap and grubby self-promoting t-shirt, Ivan broadcasts his show from behind his temporary console, alternately dancing, playing pocket billiards and picking his nose during songs.

Gags mostly revolve around song dedications with Ivan playing Kenny Loggin’s Footloose to someone with a dislocated ankle or cheering up a self-harmer with The First Cut is the Deepest. Throughout the evening the patients’ back-stories become increasingly more elaborate (‘contrived?’ Ivan innocently asks the audience at one point) but surprisingly the inevitable corny pay-offs still hit home 99% of the time.

It’s crude and brash and it’s all been done before to different degrees, notably by Alan Partridge, Smashie and Nicy, and even in a hospital by the League of Gentlemen’s Mike King, but never quite so relentlessly (I lost count of the number of song snippets) or with so much infectious energy. Helped by the intimacy of the venue Ivan’s child-like naivety allows him to interact with and enthuse the audience in ways that a regular stand-up show might not - although his creator Tom Binns is occasionally present such as when Ivan admits that he’s not real, poignantly wiggling his fingers through his empty glasses frames to prove his point. Such moments - and there are many of them amongst the rapid-fire gags - add beautiful depth to the performance; turning a 2D cartoon into a 3D person.

There are a few videos of Ivan on You Tube if you’re interested, but I’d recommend avoiding them and getting yourself a ticket to see him in the podgy flesh. To the casual observer Ivan Brackenbury's Hospital Radio Roadshow may seem to have all the subtlety of a farting pig (and if that’s your thing then you’ll be fine) but Ivan has something for everyone in the room and you’d be a big daft ‘apeth not to find out what it is. Why do we laugh? Because it’s funny, you silly billy.