There is something to be said for the pure unadulterated standup of a comedian with nothing but a microphone and a head full of good stories and wit. Low key, Kyle Kinane ambles onto the stage sans intro music or fuss, and declares an amnesty on bar and toilet visits. He lets loose his awe at a castle being right outside the venue – and he's away.
There's an everyman spirit about Kinane that allows him to be conspiratorial from the off. He's one of us. Direct-hit punchlines drop with a careless precision. He brings us into his world with disarming honesty and uncomplicated immediacy, sharing stories of his worst offences. Unsurprisingly, many of Kinane's references are American, drawing attention to the Scientology building in Los Angeles near to where he lives, and to Bill Cosby's recent disgrace. But for the most part the transatlantic gap makes no difference. His stories are personal enough to be state-less and his ideas large enough to be international.
Kinane enjoys the seediness of life, and there's something deliciously meaty about getting down and dirty with him. It's visceral and satisfying. Skilfully constructed, Kinane's snapshots of "white trash" moments provoke the instinctive and natural laughter that lives deep in the belly.
He toys with his craft, changing the gag tempo as he tangents off onto Bob Newhart-like monologues and dialogues. Kinane questions the illogical parts of our brains and takes them to playful and unnatural conclusions. It's a great take on arachnophobia and a subtle way to ask questions about the human condition. The man wears his background casually, but his comedic talent will not sit so quietly.