Alfie Brown: Soul For Sale

Since his death in 1994, comedy has been haunted by Bill Hicks. As his image loomed larger in popular culture, countless other comedians who fuel their jokes with articulate rage have risked being unfairly branded 'Hicks-lite.' Alfie Brown has broken that cycle; he completely owns his anger, forges a distinct philosophy, and succeeds in making his roaring, profane, crusading humour feel entirely unique and very funny.

Take a random sampling of Fringe standups this year, and you'll find more than a few peddling familiar, store-bought ire at easy targets like celebrity culture and the Tory government. But a very necessary element of this comedy of rage is to identify those sacred cows which need a dose of verbal napalm, but which seem to be a blind spot for everyone else. Luckily, this is second nature to Brown, as demonstrated by an opening which destroys the cult of Adele, before moving on to other deserving targets.

What makes Brown special is the fact he trades in ideas as well as anger. He cares deeply about the artistic possibilities of comedy, which is why he's so disgusted by the "cartoon nightmare" it's become - anyone with any lingering respect for Michael McIntyre as a human being will find it obliterated by Brown's merciless impression of his grinning vapidity. At one point, Brown relates the story of an industry scumbag giving him the following unsolicited advice: "Be funny, not clever. No one cares that you're clever." We can all be grateful that Brown is, in fact, both.