Robin Ince’s hair is disappearing fast; doubtless burned away by the heat from the friction of all those ideas rubbing together at once in his head. He opens by telling us he hasn’t got a new show, but his agent booked him in anyway. This may or not be true, but he nevertheless launches undaunted into a farrago of anecdotes; ideas that thrill him from science; rants against stupidity in many forms political, educational, racist, sexist and others. There are wicked jibes at people he’s worked with, notably Brians Cox and Blessed.
All delivered in his usual breathless style, tangents going off before even the previous tangent was completed, with no particular overall theme.
Some is stuff he used in his Rondo appearance last year, which is a bit naughty, but he’s still bitingly funny. Possibly he just likes playing the Rondo. Who wouldn’t? An added bonus is some songs before the interval by the irrepressible Grace Petrie: she’s young, she’s angry, she’s determinedly idealistic. Not to put too fine a point on it, a total pinko lefty bolshevist agitator. Good! Glad to hear someone in the music world is in this day and age, and her homage song to Bob Dylan is well apt. She’s very much in the mould of Bobby in his younger days. Altogether a slightly formless, but enjoyable evening for mind, body and chuckle muscles.

**** (4 Stars)

John Christopher Wood