Sometimes you see a comedy festival performance that, despite best intentions and solid material, just fizzes. A performance that reminds you how easy it is to take good stand-up for granted and how vital the mysterious alchemy of energy flowing between performer and audience is for something to be rendered enjoyable. And, unfortunately for the performer, sometimes that particular show is being reviewed.
Seann Walsh has travelled a long way from the UK to Trades Hall, and given the energy he brings to the opening minutes appears to have just stepped off a long-haul flight (even though this is the seventh show of his run). Solidarity Hall – a challenging venue with high ceilings and peculiar lighting – needs some warming up, but Walsh’s intermittent and patently ironic references to how "electric" the atmosphere is – given how little effort had been expended on his part to alter the situation – doesn’t quite cut it.
Early material is a slow burn, but when it works is of a notably high standard, with Walsh employing some physicality to elevate observations delivered with a lightly misanthropic touch which occasionally brings Dylan Moran to mind. The main theme – which eventually borders on fixation – is Walsh’s resistance to accepting adulthood and parenthood in his late 30s, being relentlessly tired and missing his carefree, drug-fuelled 20s.
To transcend a topic that is well-worn and potentially solipsistic requires an exceptional standard. Still, despite flashes of brilliance, Walsh’s failure to bring any heat or lift the tempo rendered some high-quality material inert. About 20 minutes in, Walsh checks his phone and seems genuinely thrown that he’s not further along in the hour, which rapidly goes from seeming like a planned fib to an unnerving admission as proceedings meander.
As the standard of material also heads sideways – a rendition of late-pregnancy sex required a lot more established goodwill to have everyone on board – Walsh flailed a little more before mercifully calling time (a relatable bit about that ping of delight you feel when you know a comic is about to wrap up their show lands a little too hard).
To his credit, Walsh resists the temptation to go after his audience (given how good some flashes of crowd work were, it must have been tempting) or to fall back onto how unusual the room is, shouldering responsibility for this being one of those nights, offering repeated apologies and assuring everyone that he’s not the miserable sod his material might suggest without the benefit of shared catharsis.
The last 10 mins became a loose Q&A which features Walsh recreating some older bits he’s reminded of by some loyal audience members. Not quite a redemption, but a fun way for Walsh to finish on something approaching a high.
Clearly, Walsh is not short of talent and for whatever reason, was unable to get things moving on this particular night, which we would confidently wager is not reflective of what the rest of his run might constitute. But we can only rate what’s in front of us. The delicate ecosystem of stand-up comedy means the line between a hilariously relatable night out and listening to a homesick man having a whinge is thinner than you might expect.