words: RYAN HEEGER
There are moments during Russell Kane’s set when he threatens to blow a brain receptor and have a full tonic clonic seizure, such is the breakneck speed at which his material is delivered. Indeed, many of the raucous audience threaten to do the same thanks to the quality of the gags he spouts matching the pace. He whips back and forth across the stage like an amphetamine-fuelled jester, deprecating himself and his Welsh audience with well observed references to shagging behind the local Lidl, Swansea goddesses with troglodyte boyfriends, and his own Jedward hairdo. He seems even more wired than the last time Buzz caught him live, in the upper foyer at St. David’s Hall three years ago. This is possibly down to his self-confessed fragile mental state (or, as he puts it, “My head’s fucked”) following the recent split from his wife of less than a year, fellow comic Sadie Hasler. But he uses this to his advantage, revealing his newfound penchant for British porn and one-night stands with any female devoid of self-esteem. Kane has a soft spot for Wales which wins the packed Coliseum over within thirty seconds of him being on; such is his impeccable aping of the Valleys’ accent and confession to fear of being raped by the twenty-stone rugby grunts in the cheap seats. All of which means he veers off on a massive tangent from the advertised Smokescreens & Castles show regarding his relationship with his father, but we do eventually get a portion of it. Not that anyone’s complaining. Looking around, you can usually find a straight face at any comedy gig. Not so here. Kane’s infectious spirit and high energy performance is a killer combination that pisses over those two other, more famous Russells. He’s back in St David’s Hall in September with his new Manscaping tour. You’d do very well by being there.