In 140 characters or less: “Doc Brown introduces a mish–mash of up-and-coming comedians. Be warned — quality varies considerably.”

In theory, The Comedy Reserve is a great idea. Three up-and-coming comedians share an hour-long show with a respected, but still relatively unknown comic performing compere duties. In practice, however, it’s something altogether less than the sum of its parts. Doc Brown, London-based rapper turned stand-up and brother to author Zadie Smith, certainly performs the role of MC to the height of his considerable abilities adding such much needed cohesiveness to a bill of comedians, each with an entirely different concept of humour.

Jared Hardy is barely on stage before launching into an exceptionally self-deprecating routine which, try as it might, can’t quite recover after the audience loses confidence early on. Hardy claims to resemble “an emo Harry Potter” but with his slight West Country lilt, painfully scrawny frame and the admission that he hails from Bristol, the character Sid from Skins is perhaps a more appropriate comparison. Like his small-screen counterpart, Hardy appears agonisingly awkward and, while endearing in some small way, seems out of his depth in front of an Edinburgh crowd.

Canadian comic Pat Burtscher (or “Pat Butcher!” as a lady in the next seat squealed with delight), by contrast, seems exceptionally sure of himself though appears entirely unaware of the fact. Whether drug-induced or otherwise, Burtscher spends the early part of his short set in a stupor, only snapping out of it to battle an errant mic stand. By the time he finally manages to attain something vaguely resembling lucidity, he’s riffing off the sexual differences between men and women, ending in an outrageous — and excruciating — masturbation gag. Burtscher is certainly an intense performer but his dozey demeanour and crass payoffs are something of a let-down.

Final act Chris Stokes is a minor revelation after the previous two comics. Like Hardy, Stokes plays on themes of personal deprecation and poor esteem but possesses just enough self-assurance to pull it off. He is a deconstructivist, playing on social misconceptions and dismantling them on stage. The pace is slow and meandering but there’s a surrealistic element that acts as a smoke screen, keeping the audience distracted while Stokes weaves additional layers into the fabric of a sometimes thin initial joke. His personal life proves a rich source of material, as tales of his veganism and of living with his flatmate are used as springboards for introducing new concepts. It’s difficult to see a relatively offbeat act like Chris Stokes truly going mainstream but the comedian can certainly expect to attract a cult following if this performance is any indication.

There are undoubtedly laughs to be had at The Comedy Reserve but with Doc Brown confined to his role as Master of Ceremonies, it’s left to Chris Stokes to lift the show above the level set by Hardy and Burtscher. As it is, he can’t quite manage it single–handedly and his complex, deadpan routine may prove something of a turnoff for many. Was the ticket price for The Comedy Reserve a couple of pounds cheaper it might seem a more reasonable prospect but as it is, it’s hard not to come away with at least a slight sense of disappointment.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen

Who: Phil Nichol
Where: The Stand Comedy Club II
When: Fri 7 — Sun 30 Aug (not 17)
How Much: £10

In 140 characters or less: “Canadian comic Phil Nichol turns manic lounge singer. Cash meets Sinatra is a storm of tequila, swearing and song.”

Musical comedy is all the rage in Edinburgh this year. Since David O’Doherty took last year’s If.comedy award at the Fringe for Let’s Comedy, his whimsical collection of oddball songs, tapped out on a tiny keyboard, other performers have re-invented themselves as all-singing (and, more rarely, all dancing) comedy acts. The Irishman is a tough act to follow though. The last few years have seen the bar for tune-based comedy raised to dizzying new heights as comics like Bill Bailey and Doc Brown have pushed the medium far beyond the boundaries of bawdy three-chord singalongs and trite lyrical parodies.

Enter Phil Nichol. The Canadian comedian, a former member of comedy songster trio Corky and the Juice Pigs,  has abandoned his now familiar stand-up routine in favour of an outrageous over-the-top musical show at this year’s Fringe. A Deadpan Poet Sings Quiet Songs Quietly sees Nichol take to the stage with slicked-back hair, a wide grin and a dapper suit, acoustic guitar hanging from his shoulder; think Johnny Cash meets Frank Sinatra after a few tequilas too many. He’s accompanied by a jazz pianist and a double bass player who add a carefully calculated air of pretentiousness to the proceedings, together with their finely-honed chops and backing vocals.

Despite the change in format, Nichol’s trademark deadpan humour has survived the transition to musical comedy fully intact. He’s witty and cutting, with absolutely impeccable delivery, as unexpected lyrical twists leave the audience writhing in mirth. The songs themselves form the backbone of the show and direct audience interaction, while not entirely absent, is kept to a minimum. Nichol remains in character throughout, a brooding, cynical veteran of a thousand lounge performances, determined to inflict his misery upon the world. The subject matter ranges from darkly comic personal diatribes to surprisingly incisive criticisms of PC culture, all held together by the performer’s infectious intensity and ludicrously foul mouth.

Gaps between songs are bridged with loosely-themed collections of short, sharp one-liners which act as a prelude for Nichol’s next irreverent slice of poetry. If the quips seem hit and miss, the effect is surely deliberate. Razor-sharp witticisms induce genuine belly-laughs while some of the more low-brow material elicits unsympathetic moans just as heartfelt. Nichol, however, seems to thrive on the cheesiness of some of the more ropey gags. “A groan is as good as a laugh to me!” he gleefully informs the audience after an especially hammy pun.

It’s clear that Nichol hasn’t quite ironed out all the creases in A Deadpan Poet… but the show is brimming with comic potential. The songs that make up the middle section lack the intensity and imagination of the opening and closing salvos and, despite the intended ironic uncouthness, too many of the one-liners are devoid of the sophistication an Edinburgh audience demands. Thankfully, however, the show’s ending and Nichol’s exhilarating stage presence more than compensate for any shortcomings in the rest of the material.

For a performer who has been away from the musical comedy scene for so long — the Fringe is A Deadpan Poet’s first outing in front of a live audience — Phil Nichol acquits himself admirably and, with a bit of spit and polish as the festival goes on, his latest show could easily become one of the highlights of the Fringe.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen