Rob Carter: Murder (and Other Hobbies)

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One of those performances that immediately puts you at ease and conveys you're in for a good show, this is a hugely promising debut from Rob Carter. He's that most commonplace of guitar comics, the singer-psycho. Unlike many in his field, though, he keeps you on the edge of your seat, partly through intrigue as to what he'll do next, partly in genuine fear.

His opening number, sung from the perspective of a 12-year-old murdering his friends, is a case in point – seemingly familiar but full of delightful little rug-pulls and dead-eyed non-rhymes. His persona is one of moneyed privilege too, a more sinister, less braying version of the JP-belittling character he plays in Fresh Meat. Equally, he can't avoid comparisons to Flight of the Conchords, not least during a supposedly sexy song that rechristens erogenous zones with random nouns. With the Kiwis' ongoing absence from Edinburgh that's scarcely a bad thing and he's a worthy pretender to their fanbase, shifting fluidly between musical styles – from authentic rap with only fleeting glimpses of his West Sussex bourgeoisness, to cod-reggae from the perspective of Judas Iscariot.

The quality and variety dips slightly in the middle of his hour after an unsuccessful serenade. But Carter's aloof character allows him to incorporate rampant snobbery, misogyny, audience intimidation and the bizarre tale of how he acquired his guitar without appearing inconsistent. Best of all, when he finally drops the mask and reveals the pitiful creature beneath, it's all the more striking, his Andrew Lloyd Webber-inspired closer a memorable showstopper.