Adam Flood / Phil O'Shea / Kate Hammer / Maddie Fernando - Bobby Carroll's Live Comedy Diary

Written by: Bobby Carroll
Published: Tuesday 18th February 2025

Although he is a few years past newcomer status, Adam Flood's Back Of The Spoon has the pleasing positives of a debut hour. The scattershot grab bag of years of curated proven circuit gold. A 'Greatest Hits' unbeholden to grand narratives. To make up for the lack of obvious cohesion he has a right old breakfast motif filling his big plate. Dads love marmalade. Top rated full English breakfasts. And a requiem to a six-slice toaster.

It ain't all wakey wakey eggs and bacc-ey. Flood gorgeously reappropriates his emotionally distant dad's clandestine Tripadvisor reviews. Converting the humdrum accidental lyricism of The Cheshire Sage's online feedback into lush synth heavy New Romantic songs. We are treated to four such showstoppers.

Flood's spoken word is strong. He expresses his comedy mind most aptly when he goes off piste. The recurring physical act out when explaining how he, like older generations, treats his emotions like a dropped bottle of coke. His continual pushing down of raw feelings and squirts of fragile masculinity (the true theme) had a power to it. There was kitchen sink bleakness to his description of a flat bereft of art, implements and self-worth once a breakup leaves him in an empty home. My personal favourite moment was a funeral plan for gran where a celebrant whistles his esses to ridiculous effect.

Here is an active, intelligent comedian committed to silliness. Squishy conviction. Back Of The Spoon is a show littered with offbeat inspiration. Random jewels and jangly sequins to shimmy through. A collage of styles glued in by a fixed personality.

Flood's first tour date certainly had a skewed atmosphere. The room had about a third in who didn't massively want to be there. Weekend widows while the Six Nations happened through the city. Wine drunk sleepy loners. There were clearly people disinvested from the off. Flood spent time and energy on them, sacrificed momentum. While the embattled interactions emboldened those of us wanting to jump on into his delightful worldview they also felt like unnecessary indulgences to an older, sozzled section. Ambitious material by a relative unknown will always split rooms. Some struggled to get on board, but I loved it. And maybe the word "struggle" gives the arm crossers and interrupters too much credit as the outliers. They never tried to match Flood's dynamic, poetry or talent. I witnessed a keen comedy voice who has found the equilibrium between daft and confessional. In his finest salvos, his whimsical biography rang true and hit home.

Soup Group's Clown Extravaganza takes place in one of my regular haunts. Believe it or not, the metal soundtracked spooky tombs of the Banshee Labyrinth is where I often go to bash out my notes after seeing a show in Edinburgh's Old Town. No signal, no distractions, no dicks... it is the perfect bottle jar for me to remember what I have just experienced. Their Cinema Room is a prêt-à-porter small venue for experimental comedy... full AV set up and 40 tiered seats (at a squeeze).

The ever-loveable Phil O'Shea is our host. He is trying out a new mid-Atlantic accent with achingly long vowels sounds and backstory that might just almost definitely be stolen from derided superhero flick Madame Web. Later, a visual gag spun around an unfinished costume pays off in spades. O'Shea is probably the most frisky and surefire alternative comedian on the Scottish scene. His gambles recall the greats from the surrealist boom of the mid Nineties. Echoes of Harry Hill, Ross Noble and the Boosh abound. Though he is never trapped by the traditions he revives, collating influences from all across pop culture's rich history.

For a Saturday night, that deadly time when niche shouldn't logically fly, O'Shea has assembled an oddball squad more than up to the task of winning over hearts and minds. The mixed bill introduced me to quite a few new-to-me names trying out new-to-them concepts, a roster of local clowning and improv talents. Pigtailed Jeff Kahn stoked the audience early doors with expert interactions and cherubic glee. A memorable trilling call and response to hands was followed by a 16 quid prop pillow bit. His teasing, welcoming interplays felt over before they began, and I was thirsty for more from him.

Ross J Foley's current character comedy gambit was more bedded in. Wearing a cheap bald cap, he impersonated iconic sitcom pseud Frasier Crane and got an audience member to speed type a letter for him. This skit saw the most random punters curiously pop their heads into the room for a sniff. To suss out what the hell was happening in the crowded antechamber. Even out of context they were rewarded with a quirky treat via Foley's accelerated pomposity.

My personal highlight was a mime from Trystan. Recalling the innocence of a Stan Laurel or a Harpo Marx, they wordlessly conjured out surprise objects from an Amazon delivery box that somehow also referenced a ramshackle René Magritte. Only with poultry replacing pipes! After the box prank focussed the room, set out the concepts, we went into full mime overload. Traditional / non-traditional clowning punchlines were beat out to Gloria Estefan... multiple transformations... ending on an icon of fast-food slow dancing with himself. Lots of threads tied together neatly in the physicality, and you could pick apart some weighty themes in this wordless short turn. Capitalism, gender fluidity, brand loyalty, self-worth, were all satirised over a quite graceful and affecting 5 minutes. Packed! Trystan trusted the audience with minimal back and forth and I think we were all spellbound by the end result. Pre-planned and carefully executed, it almost didn't fit in amongst all the other scratch night improvisation at the Clown Extravaganza.

All Mouth is the hot queer comedy success story from Glasgow. The night before Valentine's Day they have transplanted over to Edinburgh for a Galantine's Day Special. The branding is a photo real play on the Rolling Stones' trademark tongue / Rocky Horror lips, only open for a lick. Their social media savvy is on fire. A clever logo will only get you so far though. In the not-so-distant past, LGBT exclusive stand-up nights were built as a safe space catering towards an under exploited market. Often a little worthy, sometimes a bastion for diverse acts that struggled with straight audiences and heteronormative gatekeepers. All Mouth feels like a different breed. A celebratory space. An exuberant space. An exciting space.

At some point in the night all the performers were wearing pride flag deely bobbers yet only our host has pushed the boat all the way out with their fit. A horrendous red silk and lace dress, which may have cost just £5 in the bargain bucket, yet looks like little orphan Annie has launched her own fashion range in Ann Summers. Not many could pull this look off and command a room. Resident MC Kate Hammer, though, is a Canadian pansexual with oodles of sped up pizazz. Infectious, flirtatious supercharger sauce.

Like a brat summer mallrat who is a natural at doing the crowd work, most audience interactions are met with an initial unfettered, shamelessly enthusiastic "SHUT UP!?" or genuinely curious "What's your deal?". It is impossible not to vibe with Hammer and she seduces the entire standing room only crowd down to our very last pronoun. Her chat is lively, unthreatening and encourages response. She might ask what cartoon characters awakened us sexually or riff on star signs. Never thrown, always switching from dominating to self-aware, this is MCing that would fly at any circuit gig... well beyond partisan gay and ally crowds.

Hammer does treat us to some club set material too. Riffs on visas, Keir Starmer and falling for personalities over fixed genders. The scripted bits are witty and very well structured. Barely any fat. Hammer even ends the night on a decent poem, conceived on-the-spot, summing up all we have experienced. They prove themselves over two hours to be a full package, all tools comedian. Their heart and soul is evidently put into every All Mouth event.

The guest acts feel hand selected and exhibit the wide range of styles and statuses prospering on the wider Scottish scene. Dour opener Amanda Dwyer cracked the audience up early doors with her trademark snail's pace misery. Ponderous glum = thunderous response. Her coming Fringe hour will be one to beat.

Staccato Alvin Bang had a Rik Mayall punk thump to him. He took the crowd out of their comfort zone with tales of homebrew vape juice and obscure rail disasters.

The ever-flourishing Sam Lake felt every bit the cut-above, primo headliner. All that he regaled us with was 24 carat gold and his stand-up chops just go from strength to strength.

I will be indulgent and close off by celebrating the most chaotic act of the show. A hot mess delight. Maddie Fernando rolled up promising us love therapy but mainly she showed us screen grabs of her appearance on the reality dating show First Dates. Her set ups often got lost in delirious enthusiasm. Her PowerPoint slides ("Click! CLICK!") matched her loud personality by being littered with bonkers emoticons and volte faces. The multiple-choice question survey aspect of her set felt like a thin scaffolding for her to run wild with her hypnotically unpredictable persona. She swiped, she confessed, she cajoled us.

As a straight cis middle aged white man who 'knows a thing or two about comedy technique' I had a few notes. But as an audience member who just needed to shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride, I adored it. Fernado was the epitome of hilarious. Whether she stays on this track and becomes a cult favourite or slickens up into being a future big name, I'll always remember where I was when I first saw this joyous blitzkrieg of sexual positivity.

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