Review: The Comedy Crawl 2011. Camden. London.

Written by: Si Hawkins
Published: Tuesday 3rd May 2011

Saturday

"I haven't played a place this small since I was shit" ponders Adam Bloom as he kicks off a splendidly random weekend of comedy here in Camden, the edgy armpit of North London.

We catch Bloom in the corner of a bar called Lock 17 which has a nice canal view but is a bit awkwardly-lit for comedy, an issue that so obsesses MC Brendan Burns that he even re-raises it halfway through someone else's set. "I'm being heckled by the compère," muses a bemused Sean Hughes.

The Comedy Crawl is a new companion event to the regular Camden Crawl, at which umpteen bands play at numerous venues over a hectic weekend; now comics do the same in the places that are left, some of which are rather nice, some of which are horrid but, hey, the joy of this event is that you can wander elsewhere if the chatter of twats behind you gets too much.

It's more like the Glasto comedy tent than a mini Edinburgh Fringe then, and takes some getting used to for the comics concerned, however high-profile they may be. Lock 17 is awash with big guns early on: Burns flusters and blusters and struggles to grab everyone's attention, surprisingly, then Bloom rattles through a high-impact set derailed only by clueless heckles from a couple of rape-obsessed teenage fashion victims (that's Camden for you), which leads us to Sean's show...

One of the inaugural Crawl's marquee names takes a while to flex his funny-muscles but then he has been bedridden with some horrible ailment all day, hence a line-up reshuffle and a new earlier start so he can slope off back to the sack again.

It's an admirable performance from the ailing Irishman - with his bald patch and paunch now prime topics - albeit replete with several mumbled punchlines. Yours truly even earns a Hughes fist-pump as the only person in the building to properly hear and thus fully appreciate a fine gag about barbers' patter. Obviously I then scrubbed myself thoroughly, the bacteria-carrying bastard.

Romesh Ranganathan does a valiant job trying to follow that high-profile trio but doesn't seem to enjoy it too much, so after a quick rush round various standing-room-only venues we settle at Belushi's and the harder-hitting, highly-promising Bethany Black, who has a whale of a time.

I've seen Black win over some pretty reserved provincial audiences before with sets full of no-holds-barred sapphism and scatology so this lot are a breeze: even the potentially-troublesome posh boys on the table next to me are doubled over at various points. Remember the name.

Aussie Kent Valentine is then affable but instantly forgettable, chiefly because of the fellah who follows him. Julian Deane (pictured) has been winning 'best new act' awards all over the shop for the last few years and you can understand why. He's short of stature but heavy on punchlines, many of which emerge from the most unpromising of set-ups like beautiful comedy butterflies, and he's arguably Act of the Day.

So good, in fact, that we only catch the last few seconds of the brilliant Tony Law over the road (see Anna Lowman's review for the Law lowdown). Ah well, that's how the Crawl crumbles.

Sunday

I've ended up with a music wristband today too so it's off to see a couple of hilariously contrary acts to begin with: the brilliant violin-wielding torch-singer Marques Toliver at the Levis/Clash Magazine showcase, followed by the fantastically stupid Rise to Remain who rock the open-air Red Bull stage. Classic Crawl juxtaposition there.

The latter performance gives my companion, a virgin of Crawls, her first taste of another frequent issue at such events, the awkward just-bought-a-drink-but-hate-the-band conundrum. Do you savour your beverage and sit through whatever monstrous gig you've stumbled into, or down it swiftly and head off somewhere better? We give it a minute then tip them back and do the off.

It's a bit tricky timing your runs to the comedy venues as the line-up is a little bit free-jazz in places, and like you're never 100% sure who you'll come across. We manage to miss Andrew Maxwell at the bijou Camden Head and instead catch a bit of Sara Pascoe flailing slightly before recovering with some sound but morally suspect how-not-to-get-your-cycle-stolen advice, then Tom Rosenthal who brings his Student Comedy Award onstage for some reason. Tom, you're Jim Rosenthal's son, that's good enough for us.

It's way too hot at the Head so we head back to the Fat Tuesday/Old Rope bash at Belushi's which is far more sedate. They've clearly gotten the pub names arse-about-face round here as right opposite is the pleasant-sounding Wheelbarrow, which is actually a bit of a comedy hell-hole because - as someone behind the scenes confides later on - the staff have apparently been ignoring the wristbands and letting regular pub-goers in, so the acts are competing against half a bar full of loud drunkards facing in entirely the opposite direction.

Matt Green is lucky to be in the quieter of the two venues as across the road his gentle rambling would make about as much impact as a paper aeroplane 9/11, but the well-behaved Belushi's crowd chuckle along. This is partly because MC Tiffany Stevenson (pictured) rips any wayward chatterers to shreds during the between-act breaks. Keith Farnan then bludgeons the remaining bletherers into submission with some wild-haired bragging about all the nice countries he's been invited to recently.

Over at Lock 17 the highlight of Henning Wehn's excellent set is his attempt to warble the sort of modern music he imagines everyone is listening to at the regular Camden Crawl, but which sounds suspiciously like Blur's Song 2 (which was released in 1997. Funnily enough we'd bumped into Blur's Graham Coxon earlier on but then failed to get into his oversubscribed gig despite a whole armful of wristbands. There's nothing sadder than free drink vouchers for a bar you can't get anywhere near.)

Wehn is just back from Oz and any jetlag clearly provides fuel for his mock-fury, and all that impassioned sturm und drang about der fatherland is ideal for keeping an increasingly sozzled audience in check.

He certainly fares better than Rufus Hound, who - hidden sullenly within a hoodie - looks like he'd much rather be doing his usual music festival business, larking about with Edith Bowman between bands on BBC3. Perhaps he's got the hump that Bowman was presenting Royal Wedding coverage from Will and Kate's old alma mater on Friday while he prepared to be loudly talked-over at a little gig in Camden.

Still, it probably took him back. One residual bonus to this first, already hugely enjoyable Comedy Crawl: it's kept a few well-known comics' feet firmly on the ground.

[i]More reviews of The Comedy Crawl: Anna Lowman | Lydia Nicholas.