Jay Foreman

Jay Foreman is a consummate professional. In a world where a good chunk of his contemporaries habitually wing it, it’s nice to see someone so, well, together. His laid-back show is the perfect antithesis to the clatter just outside the room. He’s won plenty of awards, and is fresh from chumming Dave Gorman around – clearly he’s doing something right.

No More Colours lives in more of a mutant marshmallow than a venue; a sort of inflatable igloolittered with rainbow-coloured bean-bags, plonked in the middle of the Pleasance. It’s a quirky room, and rather in keeping with this musical comedy’s bountiful whimsy.

Foreman’s relaxed, almost soothing to watch. He enjoys the audiences almost as much as they enjoy him with plenty of gentle interaction. The songs are sweet but insightful; intelligent and imbued with a delicate poetic charm. Every now and again we‘re treated to a dreamlike story that wouldn’t feel out of place in a 70s kids show, but we’re yanked away by the constant reminders from Jay, that despite the veneer, he’s really an incorrigible cynic. Frankly, this is hard to believe from a man who sings about beastie vomit and the contents of his Granny’s cupboards. Seriously – sunshine pours out of this guy. It’s incongruous; not even the odd knee-jerk swear can fool us.

The show’s zenith is genuinely touching; a poignant aphorism about changing your perspective, delivered through the song and light. It’s moving, and is a really fitting way to wrap up a thoroughly enjoyable hour. Foreman has something of a throwback minstrel quality that holds you – the whole thing is just quite, quite lovely.