Rachel Fairburn / Seymour Mace / Sid Singh - Bobby Carroll's Fringe Diary

Written by: Bobby Carroll
Published: Thursday 22nd August 2024

Prepare to be dazzled! Rachel Fairburn sashays out on to stage wearing more sequins than Elizabeth Berkley's shower trap. Showgirl sees everyone's favourite misery guts Mancunian set the room alight with a shimmer of gold, pink tassels and unguarded verbal swagger. Most comedians are up here trying to cash in on past trauma with a "poor me" begging bowl. Fairburn has come to town with the sole intention of kicking anyone in her way to death. She doesn't need to do it with her high heels either. Her sledgehammer wit destroys all comers.

The queen of misanthropy gifts us her inspiring origin story as a performer. And obliterates the middle classes, Air Fryer owners and parents who bring their kids into pubs along the way. Razor sharp writing. She slashes them up with it. It is merciless. Look at how she eviscerates the phrase "Til death do us part". You can't close your eyes and shut out the images of what your gran is actually up to in Heaven. Fairburn is a glamorous barbarian come to batter your fragile suburban sensibilities.

Fairburn is in her element, in her prime. Many comedians begin to reinvent themselves at her stage in their careers but there's something dependable about how abrasive her stand-up can be. You can only pull off this level of bleak aggression in 2024 if you are honed and unapologetic. It is reassuring our best practitioner of this flavour of comedy is no longer some loser incel bloke in a sweaty black t-shirt, but an absolute vision. There is even a nudge of a message about how art funding for deprived areas, rather than say ballet in W1, does transform lives.

Geordie eccentric Seymour Mace has been a mainstay of the Fringe for so long now he has acquired elder statesman status. The rare comic who ardent comedy die-hards and New Town poshos book their advance tickets for well before the hot new thing of August has even sent out their first press release. It is comforting to see such a unique working class voice so firmly established in the heart of such a middle class jamboree.

Even Mace's opening twenty minutes, where he attempts to reclaim and celebrate the naughty expletive 'cunt', feels like coming home. Familiar and welcoming. He has an insightful line about referring to it as the C-bomb that is worth the admission price alone.

The rest of the show is a mongrel of cute and puerile. Line drawn cartoon boards of dogs with hard-ons. Animals with chocolate body parts. Celebrities taking dumps on pets. A sexist hand puppet called Jimmy Snail. Beyond the menagerie are handmade props built for one big laugh and then moved on from. A religious figure makes a cameo and the highlight is a begrudging dance-off against his past and future selves. Mace fans will know the end of the show will have him shouting from the first floor window of the Stand 2 at a bemused passer-by like an out of season Ebeneezer Scrooge.

It might all read as chaotic, but for aficionados of the beloved cult figure there is no actual danger. Mace's low rent style of surrealism feels like a warm embrace in these troubled times. We are the slow wasps, he is a rolled-up copy of Viz, nobody minds getting swatted.

Robyn Perkins is absolutely rinsing the Fringe. She is the mastermind behind 5 different shows every single day, from kids science to stand-up. I plumped for her 10,000 Ideas free show with Laughing Horse but any one could be a winner. The elevator pitch of this hour is that the packed audience can ask her anything and she'll tell the truth. Less a crowdwork hour and more a town hall where the punters work her. And, boy oh boy, does this room go for it!?

The Yanks in attendance quiz their long-emigrated country person about the difference between here and the States. Quite a few variations on the same question but she indulges a variety of answers. The more inspired interrogate her on time travel, Muppet preference and whether she has a party trick? She does. She utilises a projected Google search wonderfully when a random question on pasta shapes electrifies the room. She also has prepared material in her back pocket that she can convert some stickier or common questions over to.

A bundle of energy and enthusiasm with a wealth of knowledge and life experience to fall back on, the best noise you can get from Perkins is an excited throaty "ooh" as she processes a question. The audience had a blast, every show is bespoke and with four other opportunities a day to get some Perkins in your diet why wouldn't you support this hard grafting treat of a human being?

Isabelle Farah decides to revive the historical tale of Nebuchadnezzar as a one woman show. Only topical references to the crumbling state of Britain and the occasional pop lyrics keep getting in the way... Did you know the King of Babylon invented the nation's favourite sport and primetime reality TV? This British-Lebanese performer keeps things bright and entertaining if a tad loose. It is her winning personality that keeps you invested throughout. She is very adept at going into the audience and keeping the pot stirred with chat. Nothing revolutionary happens, you could invite your least culturally daring neighbours or office pals to it and everyone would leave happy. Which is not to say Farah doesn't softly make some political stabs. There aren't many shows whose stylistic touchstones are Disney and panto but can end organically on the exclamation "End Fascism!".

Far more abrasive by choice and outlook is Sid Singh, an American / Indian / human rights lawyer who also does stand-up. American Coloniser is this year's show to wake us up to the ills of the world. White complacency trumps white guilt. After warning us there will be stony faces and walk outs, he shows his chops with a longform story of a disastrous Fringe run on a double decker bus 10 years previous.

Singh's speaking style has the snare drum beat of Kevin Smith whipping it up at a Comicon. Every. Word. Is. Emphasised. This opening salvo is genuinely hilarious, but he was right to warn the room...

Once Singh slips away from proving his bonafides, the road is harder and rockier. A swathe of his hour pivots on bad mouthing Ahir Shah's award-winning show from last year, Ends. That was the hit, this is an answer song of sorts.

Singh presents his fellow comedian as a race traitor only offering up comforting tales of immigrating ancestors and a celebration of Rishi Sunak's achievements. Those of us who have seen Shah's Ends know this attitude is reductive of a more sophisticated, more hopeful and more laugh-heavy hour than he suggests. And for most of the audience... they have zero bearings as to what he is even talking about. At best, this long sequence gets some concept approving claps.

Singh does get the train back on the rails, he is undoubtedly a very skilled comedian, but then he tries the same salvo again, throwing his own dead ancestors under the train. What happens next is a rushed exposition dump about various random generations and the iffy small parts they played in Indian history. Most of the audience doesn't seem to connect with what he is saying, and not through any racist ignorance. We just can't get any grounding as to where in the march of time we are after the third generational leap in four minutes. The points he wants to make are solid but this section possibly needs a full hour devoted just to it. Or not at all. These longueurs without echo eventually hit a similar message as Ahir Shah did last year, only back then to constant peals of laughter. People taking positive action has more effect than getting trapped in old beefs. I'd give Singh a second chance if he'd have me.

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