Kunt and The Gang

As Kunt himself pointed out when he signed my copy of his Greatest Hits, it's a hell of a place to spend your birthday. Midnight in an upstairs bar, listening to a grown man discover how many euphemisms he can cram into an hour long set, accompanied by a soundtrack that is equal parts bontempi magic and 1980s' electro-pop.

In another mouth, Kunt's comedy could be profoundly offensive. Since at least five people walk out – quite what they expected the show to be like is a mystery – it is quite offensive anyway. But what softens Kunt (his gang is really just puppet Little Kunt, who makes a short guest appearance) is the naive enthusiasm he brings to songs about killing relatives, alcohol-inspired mayhem and paedophile-phobia.

Despite concentrating on the sort of antics that would get lesser men locked up, Kunt lacks the misogyny that makes many stand-ups so unattractive. He achieves this by maintaining a school playground charm: his list of things he'd do for a million pounds may get progressively uglier, but sounds more like a couple of kids arguing than a menu for mayhem. That he invariably ends up as the victim of his own behaviour – except for that time he ended up killing a prostitute – lends him an innocence that could even suggest his Wank and Cry Trilogy is a moral lesson.

Funny as the filth is, Kunt's ability to structure a song – usually leading him deeper into chaos – and conjure up filthy scenarios with a wide-eyed gusto makes him more than just another crude one trick pony. But the name ought to be a warning.