It seems that Robin Ince was completely
unaware that this was going to happen.
After working through a somewhat disjointed show he confessed
that this was one of his worst gigs to date.
He occasionally chastised himself for being a sweaty wreck of
a man, shouting out completely incoherent material to a bewildered
audience but Ince should take comfort in the fact that most of the
people sitting around me seemed to be thoroughly enjoying
themselves.
The show was a rambling excursion through
the labyrinthine mind that Ince seems to possess and it was a lot of
fun along the way. Leaping
from thoughts about lager culture to Darwinism; astrologers to
religion; bees to Playboy, Ince never lets up.
Even if it wasn’t flowing together in some semblance of
order it still made me laugh as he managed to milk humour out of
both familiar experience and newly gained knowledge. He admits that he’s intrigued by science and frantic about
learning, and this certainly comes across in his material which,
individually, is all well thought out, interesting and entertaining.
It’s a strange sort of compliment but
even Ince on a bad night is thoroughly worth watching.
Robin Ince knew this would happen.
****
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