Rubberbandits

It’s probably been said before, but you’d expect a couple of blokes from Limerick to be pretty good at rhyming. The Rubberbandits’ verse is very much of the 21st century, though, gonzo gangsta rap popularised via several zillion views on various video sites. Attitude-wise they’re sort of snotty cousins to the lovely, lilting tones of that other Irish hip-hop talent, Abandoman, their bag-headed bedlam claiming the coveted Malcolm Hardee Award for Comic Originality last year.

Those plastic bags are probably the most original bit, in truth, as weirdo white-boy comedy rap is hardly new, from The Lonely Island right back to Tony Hawks’ Stutter Rap in 1987. The Rubberbandits' jarring appearance and watershed-free web route to success does give them an added air of anything-could-happen subversion; but as they readily admit at the outset, this show sees them largely just plough through the same hits they played last year.

There’s a ballsy Public Enemy-style visual gag during the Troubles-related Up the Ra and three between-song jokes, but generally the videos screened behind them garner most of the laughs. You could save your cash and watch them online, it's true, but that’s missing the point.

With the seats having been swiftly removed from the Gilded Balloon’s Nightclub beforehand, a mixed bag of beats blaring out and a knowledgeable crowd chanting along to songs they already know, the duo's mock-moan about being wrongly categorised by the Fringe guide turns out to be a fair point. The Rubberbandits really need a section all of their own.