Irish Times critics review acts at the Murphy's UnCorked comedy festival and HIM at the Ambassador in Dublin

Paul Merton and Jeremy Hardy

Murphy's UnCorked comedy festival

Audience participation was an integral part of comedian, Paul Merton's show at the Cork Opera House last Saturday night, where he performed with four Comedy Store comedians as part of the Murphy's UnCorked Comedy and Blues Festival. And boy, it was a cerebral audience that contributed to the madness that emerged in the course of an enjoyable evening.

Merton looked benign and a bit wooden on the stage. But he is quick.

After some surrealism, suggested by a member of the audience, involving Mickey Mouse and his allergy to cheese, Merton left the stage while ideas were presented from the floor regarding an unusual occupation.

The one that was embraced, without Merton hearing it, was that of a Leonard Bernstein impersonator who is supporting his course of study for six years in an Azerbaijan college by working as a gigolo. The task for Merton, back on stage, was to look for clues to identify this occupation. Without going into too much detail, the Comedy Store players gave hints such as multi-storey - as in Westside Story (which Bernstein composed) followed by the sentence "Paul Gascoigne has bought Janet Street-Porter", abbreviated into the headline "Gazzer buys Jan" as in, you've guessed it, Azerbaijan. And on it went, with Merton guessing the occupation in double quick time.

While audience participation was what the Paul Merton show hinged on, former Perrier Award winner, Jeremy Hardy, who played the Everyman Palace Theatre on Sunday night, relied solely on his own wit.

In an effort to identify with his modestly-sized audience, Jeremy went on a little too much about 800 years of British oppression of the Irish.

But he was topical, referring to the forthcoming referendum to the Constitution and the rise and rise of Sinn Féin, which he described as being like New Labour with guns.

Treading a left-wing line, he said that "three-quarters of all kids born in hospitals throughout the world have Irish parents, and now it's pay-back time".

Hardy also denigrated the Catholic church by wondering what the all the fuss is about regarding gay clergy members.

"Being gay is the point of the clergy," he said, adding that Catholicism is high on camp. At this point, three elderly members of the audience left the auditorium.

Hardy, observant as ever, articulated his query. "Was it the blasphemy or the pro-immigration stance?" he asked, non-plussed.

The second half of Hardy's show veered away from the predictable Guardian-type sentiments about the war in Iraq, capitalism and what's left of British imperialism, and became far more amusing. Hardy spoke about ageing, Botox, DIY Ikea and Argus, saying that the British are scabs by denying carpenters' unions the right to construct household furniture. And what's more, these people, Protestants, do their DIY on Sundays.

Hardy has the knack of putting his finger on the traits of his fellow men.

Shame that he occasionally descended into paddywhackery to describe the Irish.

Colette Sheridan

HIM

Ambassador, Dublin

For some reason, rock music from Scandinavia is this year's thing: alongside HIM, there's The Rasmus, Turbonegro and many others coming our way. Most of these bands are limited to a twin fixation on relentless guitar riffs and a lyrical philosophy based on the works of high-profile Satanist, Aleister Crowley. HIM - an abbreviation of His Infernal Majesty - is slightly different, however.

Lighter in touch musically - and with a lyrical philosophy based more on the contents of a box of Black Magic - the Finnish band is rumbled before the first song (Buried Alive By Love) ends.

So much is HIM on the cusp of crossover success - and insect-thin lead singer Valle Valo such an obvious object of desire for the Goth girls - that within minutes the front of the stage is festooned with enough bras and knickers to open up a lingerie stall in O'Connell Street.

The crossover appeal of HIM is simple to understand: the band aren't as ugly or as musically dense as their counterparts, and their occasionally anthemic songs are invested with real tunes.

Lyrically, too, the band's doomed-love/suicide-is-painless songs regularly transcend the systematic morbidity that will surely drag their colleagues down a well-worn path to obscurity.

This is not to say that HIM is the best of the bunch, or that they are even the best of a bad lot.

It's just that songs such as Beyond Redemption, The Sacrament, Your Sweet Six Six Six and The Funeral of Hearts (can you see a theme emerging?) are quite good: catchy, melodic and guitar-driven material supplemented by keyboards that swish and swoosh in all the right places.

What disappoints the most is the lack of a decent stage show.

One would have thought that the sepulchral, Hammer Horror ambience of the songs might have been matched by a decent light-show and considered stage dynamics. Alas, no; it was just the same hackneyed routine of dry ice and primary colours, albeit regularly enhanced by the gentle, compelling arc of black thongs.

Perhaps on their return (in the chilly months - how apt) they'll have sorted out a stage show to equal their music, as well as a merchandise stall to flog the underwear back to the owners.

Until then, it's surely a case of Goth but not forgotten.

Tony Clayton-Lea