Fear and loathing at Krater Comedy Club

Comedy gigs are scary things. I can deal with the top-name comedians at big venues – Eddie Izzard and Ross Noble sure get the endorphins pumping - but intimate gigs with little known acts can be more of an ordeal than an enjoyable evening out.

There is nothing more cringe-worthy than seeing a stand-up bomb on stage, and as I’m a bit of an anxiety-ridden wreck at the best of times, it’s just not good for the nerves.

But it’s not just the teeth-clenching empathy that’s the issue. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than sat in the front row of a small stand-up gig, a sitting duck, a lamb to the slaughter…and other farmyard animals appropriate for use in similes.

The Fear obviously doesn’t bother other people so much, however, as the Komedia’s Krater Comedy Club is packed every weekend. It’s won awards, The Independent thinks its pretty hot and it’s proved so popular that the venue has just added another night to the weekly bill. You can now see stand-ups perform on a Thursday evening. And so we did, thanks to a friend who works there.

To my surprise, The Fear wasn’t an issue this time. The Fear, it turned out, is no match for The Loathing.

Hello MC Paddy Lennox. From Ireland you say? Well, that’s funny on its own isn’t it. No need to come up with any jokes or hone that wit. How about you just tell the audience what they think about Irish people, make cheap shots about Brighton’s gay population and peoples’ entirely legitimate jobs (thank god no one mentioned social media) and embrace crudeness for crudeness’s sake. Oh, and do that to introduce the evening, in between each act and at the end of the night. Great. That’s. just. great.


Thank you, Joe Lycett’s mother, for Joe Lycett. Joe who makes Paddy, straight-out-of-the-early-90s-club-circuit, Lennox leave the stage. Joe who looks like a little boy lost before getting into his comedic stride with such ease it’s like watching one of your, very funny, best mates up there on stage. Joe who is truly loveable and hilarious.

Joe talks about daftness, middle-class foods, and living at home with said mother. Said mother who is utterly distressed by the Spotify adverts. “But, but I don’t want “bass in my face””, says said mother as her afternoon of classical music in the garden is interrupted.

Of course Joe is incredibly middle class - he knows it and he plays on it. After all, there’s nothing a middle class person likes more than a bit of self-deprecation. Eases the guilt.

There are two more acts before the headline, one a wannabe Jack Dee/Steve Wright whose jokes don’t quite compensate for the incredible awkwardness he intentionally brings to the room, and the other a man who simultaneously looks like a Somerset farmer, city banker and cockney wide-boy. In fact I don’t think he is any of these things. He’s not bad, but by this point of the night people are laughing at pretty much anything – they’re drunk.

For the finale we travel back in time to my year-eight music class. Mr Morgan has left the lads unattended and they’re changing the words in well-known songs to make the girls giggle. They’re overacting the big numbers, pretending they’re on a stadium tour or in a power ballad video. They’re pissing about with the synths and the keyboard effects. Oh no, it’s not the boys from school, it’s Rob Deering. Time to go.

IMAGE by Andy Hollingworth from www.joelycettcomedy.co.uk