Fringe comedy reviews: Man Sings the Same Song Over and Over Again for an Hour | Dru Cripps + more

Man Sings the Same Song Over and Over Again for an Hour ★ ★ ★ ★

Summerhall (Venue 26) until 31 August

Two questions keep being asked about this show by people who haven’t seen it. Firstly: ‘Is it really a man singing a song over and over for an hour?’ and secondly, ‘What is the song?’

The answer to the first question is: ‘Yes. The title is an accurate description of the show.’ And the answer to the second question is: ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

The performer, who goes by the name of Conk, is a cheery Australian who wears a bright turquoise suit. Behind him is a screen with a countdown display on it. We start at an hour and count down as soon as the first song starts.

Luckily, he’s a reasonable singer, and the song, which dates from the 1980s, is a catchy choice. However, it does have some highly questionable lyrics, which become apparent as we hear the song again, and again.

Conk has some neat little theatrical tricks to mark the beginning and the end of each rendition of the song. Sometimes we sing along, sometimes there are other ways to join in. There are things to play with, things to look at and lyric sheets for those who need them.

Astonishingly it is never boring. And it makes you think about the nature of performance, and the difference between having a live experience and listening to a recording. It’s funny, joyful and unexpectedly profound.

The finale is glorious. If you’re lucky enough to get a ticket you should go. Claire Smith

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Dru Cripps: Juicy Bits ★ ★ ★ ★

The Big Yurt at Hoots @ Potterrow (Venue 243) until 31 August

The good news is that I saw less of a show and more of a glorious 'happening'. It was an enthralling thing to be part of. The bad news is that you are unlikely to see the same spontaneously crazily thrilling show as that one. But with Dru Cripps, you just never know. His stock in trade is the loopstation and an encyclopaedic knowledge of musical beats.

This show starts normally enough, although Nick in the front row makes an absolute Horlicks of his contribution to Dru's opening loop package. Dru is the most charming and engaging of performers, to say nothing of quick witted and willing to take a chance, so when he hears a noise outside his Yurt, he dives out and returns with three 19-year-olds who are on their way to the pub when he grabs them.

Under Dru's guidance they form a Britpop band and happily remove clothing (tops only, although Dru 'leads' down to his boxers) and give Pulp a run for their money.

OK they don't. They are enthusiastic and sweet, but a bit rubbish. Yet they will never forget this experience and neither will we. As they disappear into the night (reclothed) Dru is not done yet. Fun and funny is squeezed out of every moment. We get heavy metal finger painting with Isla the primary teacher, Dru makes a failed attempt to “shoehorn in some poignancy” and we are privileged to end our hour in reggae mode (another audience suggestion) made glorious by Dru's being joined onstage by his father, who has serious skillz both vocally and as a dancer.

The moves he busts are something else and we realise that one thing that totally trumps the legendary 'dead dad show' is the 'live dad show’. Kate Copstick

Glenn Wool is Luv (Sic) ★ ★ ★ ★

The Beehive (Venue 178) until 30 August

There is a bit of an obsession (probably understandable) at the Fringe that a comedy show has to be 'about' something. All too frequently the 'about' is used to paper over the cracks that funny should fill, but all too often doesn't. So it is a great pleasure to watch an hour which is themeless, gimmickless and provokes no particular revelation before taking you straight to laughter.

As impressive as the laugh count is, Glenn's control over his Saturday night crowd, which seems to favour the vocally enthusiastic lady with a large glass and a small bladder, is every bit as admirable. He gets a long way with charm and quick wit but quickly makes the decision to go full frontal and barks “just shut the f*** up.” They do. And they laugh.

On stage he is like a big smiley bear and his delivery sounds as though it might benefit from a Fisherman's Friend, but this is comedy to roll with. And it is packed with funny. I believe there is an expression “all killa no filla” – well, maybe not “killa” but we pretty much get “all laffs with no chaff”.

From hearing aids and his double divorce, through the plague of acronyms and a beautiful little routine about a metaphorical soccer game in his head, nothing falls flat. Of course we get Trump, the Royal Family and the dangers of weak beer, ADHD, Einstein and slap therapy. Every so often there is a perfectly formed and lethally pointed joke. Like comedy punctuation. The hour is packed with laughs for the sake of laughs. That is difficult to achieve but a blast to be part of . This is good old-fashioned live stand-up and you really should get along and see it. Kate Copstick

Raj Poojara: Dice ★ ★ ★

Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) until 30 August

Raj Poojara's gambling show title alludes to the fact that he used to be a private banker, making a lucrative living advising Premier League footballers on their ill-advised spending. Secure in his solid British-Indian professional status, he persuaded his hard-working parents to retire and come live with him, before throwing himself into penury by becoming a comedian.

That, at least, is the jaundiced spin that the likeably self-mocking stand-up puts on his life, with even a translation of his name suggesting that he's more than a bit sh*t. Sharing his abject performance on a famous gameshow, he's a larger man, of outwardly indeterminate ethnicity. And he's constantly fielding questions about his identity, leading to situations ranging from the well-meaning but comic, to the explicitly racist, his neglected libido compromising the extent to which he's prepared to stick up for himself and his heritage.

Further misconceptions arise from people assuming he's Muslim rather than Hindu, a distinction he himself will happily ignore in the service of a gag. As Poojara discloses that his true dream was to be a barber, with the unconvincing theory that they enjoy fidelity you won't find in a romantic relationship, his dice-rolling theme feels unnecessary. Just enjoy the well-told stories of a comic who's taken a rather serpentine path to his Fringe debut. Jay Richardson

READ MORE: Fringe comedy reviews: Frankie McNair | Amy Matthews | Rob Kemp | Sid Singh | Cecily Hitchcock | Rob Duncan

Felicity Ward: I Wish I Could Come Out of My Shell ★ ★ ★

Monkey Barrel Comedy (Cabaret Voltaire) (Venue 338) until 30 August

Felicity Ward shimmies out onto the stage in a dazzling silver dress and astonishingly high heels. Since she was last in Edinburgh seven years ago she has been on Dancing With the Stars Australia, and it’s transformed her life. But she also has a lot more to tell us. Since the last time she was on the Fringe, Flick has had a child, got divorced, come out as bisexual, rejoined the dating scene and been diagnosed with ADHD. She is, she says, an over-sharer, so she simply has to tell us about all of it.

Ward is a great storyteller and a great comic, so we are in safe hands, but there is a little too much crammed into her show. Just one of these stories would have worked as a narrative arc. I do like the bit about her class struggle with her own son, who has a posh English dad. But I think perhaps she should have centred her story on Dancing With The Stars. She lights up when she talks about her stint on reality television and it’s absolutely lovely to watch a clip of her whirling across the dancefloor at the end of the show. Claire Smith

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