Ed Gamble: Stampede

'The loudness wars' is a term used by audiophiles to describe the trend of increasing sound levels in commercial music. It's accepted that as listening habits change, recordings are being mastered at an overly high volume in order to grab the increasingly distracted consumer's attention. Critics of these tactics note their fatiguing effect on the listener. We may not be conscious of it, but we're being overwhelmed by noise while our minds crave subtlety and dynamic range.

To observe the same phenomenon in comedy, just look to Ed Gamble's migraine-inducing new show. Having grown familiar to Fringe audiences as one half of Peacock and Gamble—the comedy nerd's preferred contemporary double act—he's made what seems a very deliberate decision to go mainstream. The performer's shed several stone and can comfortably fill jeans as skinny as those of Jack Whitehall or Sean Walsh. All he needs to do now is scream for attention. If he drowns out his equally well groomed rivals, the money will come pouring in.

Stampede proves Gamble can match the most proficient up-and-comers in infectious energy and shrieked banalities. He's crafted a mostly tedious set around his experience of dieting, but throws in enough surreal, deftly worded asides to remind us of his pedigree as an alternative comic, and to emphasise how much of a compromise this is. After storming the gig, he runs triumphantly off stage to the strains of strident, cocksure blues rock. Enough said.