Bart Freebairn is a comedian that understands how any solid joke can be improved with a smattering of naughty language. And when I say smattering, I mean he throws the c and f-bombs around like they are a frisbee at Edinburgh Gardens on a Sunday afternoon. And as long as you keep your eye on it, you won’t end up with a flying plastic disc in the face.
Freebairn rarely takes a breath or drops the pace during his set, a joke machine built on absurd observations and weird situations that don’t always stand up to post-show evaluation, but you know it was funny at the time. Such is the intoxicating experience of Freebairn onstage. Expect to stare off into the middle distance for the next few days, recollecting snippets of jokes and chuckling like a mad fool.
Freebairn doesn’t spend too much time trying to tie one story to the next, and even if one doesn’t entirely land softly he’s already taking a running jump at the next tale. I went into this festival thinking that an hour-long set could only survive if there was some sort of unifying theme to link it all together. Bart Freebairn just blew that whole thing right open.
BY MITCH ALEXANDER
