“This is bardic levels of storytelling. It’s Socratic monologue – if that’s a thing.”

Editorial Rating: 5 Stars (Outstanding)

The queue for Pleasance JackDome is so long it’s doubled back on itself. We’re excited. We’ve been waiting three LONG years for this, for our chance to see THE UP AND COMING ACT of our time. Alasdair Beckett-King is not so much an acquired taste as a taste once acquired, never forgotten. “I’m drinking stars,” is what Dom Perignon is supposed to have said after his first sip of champagne. It’s the same feeling you get watching ABK in one of the last small spaces he’s likely to play.

It’s his material. It’s his delivery. It’s his persona. It’s his hair. Samson must have had hair like that before Delilah got her shears out. It’s hair that should be insured by Lloyds of London. There’s so much of it and it’s so ginger. That’s an obvious thing to say and obvious is the last thing you get with ABK. He comes at you from all angles. This is three dimensional comedy, four if you believe in that sort of thing. It’s clever, it’s insightful, it’s occasionally naughty, but always nice. The appeal is universal.

This is bardic levels of storytelling. It’s Socratic monologue – if that’s a thing. Word on the street is that ABK’s Buxton Fringe outing this year was a bit ropey, and he admits to misordering some of his bits tonight. But this rope has been re-braided strong enough to haul up the mainsail and plenty of topgallants besides. This is a voyage you don’t want to miss. Your last chance to see ABK before he goes supernova. Sell whatever surplus body organs you have to spare and get yourself a ticket.

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