Review: Rachel Fairburn: Can I Be Awful?

Class war! Sick of being patronised as a working-class woman in her day-to-day life and described by comedy reviewers as “abrasive”, “mouthy”, “brassy” and the like, Rachel Fairburn is going fully on the offensive. Hooked on the tale of an act of kindness that a stranger had the temerity to force upon her, the Mancunian comic is taking no prisoners, her misanthropy abating only for the sex fantasy she's conceived with Priti Patel and Clare Balding and a defence of Wetherspoons.

With little obvious evidence of where her performing persona ends and her real feelings begin, with the suspicion that they may be fully aligned, Fairburn's commitment to her hate is impressive, from obvious targets like the robber barons running the train and utility companies, to the claggy mouthful that is Mini Cheddars. Mixing seemingly heartfelt polemic with more capricious strafing, she's naturally on the side of women, northerners and the working-class against oppression but takes a more open view of inter-generational tension, not as quick to heap blame on the Boomers as some of her contemporaries. Building a fair head of steam and securing a number of applause breaks, it's fair to say that plenty of Fairburn's gripes are popular and a great many, even without the scrutiny of her withering scorn, entirely justified, particularly about a comedy industry that's nowhere near as progressive as it smugly imagines. Still, despite some good lines, she's predominately using a sledgehammer to crush nuts, with her bludgeoning onslaught crying out for a bit more variation and nuance.