Brendon Burns

Considering it's opening night, Brendon Burns can be forgiven for a slightly shambolic opening to this year's show. Mic issues aside, his opening gambit is a little all over the place as he discusses himself as an ageing rock-and-roller, plugs his book and feels around in the dark for something to connect. Then, easing into a heartfelt anecdote about his dad on his death bed ("this isn't a 'my dad's dead show' don't worry"), everything connects, rocketing off in an explosion of vitriol, surprising poignancy and occasional c-bombs to exhilarating effect. 

He may have mellowed with age but when he lets loose, Burns is just brilliant. Some things, his "vile" stepmother especially, provoke an anger so strong he runs out of adjectives, whereas his bemusement at teen porn is more measured, creating a hypothetical scenario as sad as it is funny. Burns picks and chooses his rants as the show unfolds—there's no shouting for shouting's sake here.

As he visibly relaxes into the material, it flows effortlessly; complete with knowing references to age without, for the most part, falling into cliché. He's always been charming, but topics such as masturbation, pornography and doing unspeakable things to a goat barely make up a quarter of the show and are delivered with equal parts likeability, grace and swearing. Even the elderly couple who walk out, do so apologetically. "That's lovely," Burns says, genuinely touched, "they didn't call me shit. It just wasn't for them. I respect that."