Brendon Burns is not happy with the Monday-night reception he receives. "It's a fuckin' show, act like it!" he roars, stomping back off the stage. "It's been sold out every night - you're lucky to get a ticket you cunts!"
Burns, in ripped jeans and a blue bandana, is a kind of Australian Tommy Lee - brash, unpredictable, gloriously unsubtle. But he is also serious about what he does, describing himself repeatedly, and not always plausibly, as a "wordsmith" with a wonderful "turn of phrase". He is good with words, but his tales of drug binges and sexual malfunction are brilliant more because they are bold than because they are subtle.
The greatest joy of a Burns show, in any case, is watching him fail to control his impulses. Every so often a wicked idea lights up his eyes and a brief internal struggle ensues. Decorum always loses.
At an open-mic night, for instance, he ran on stage and stripped the compere naked. Tonight, among other things, as he changes costume behind a screen, he hears a woman make a dash for the loo. Suddenly, a pants-only Burns leaps out and tears off after her into the foyer. He brings her back to use his private loo, and then shouts "you tiny-bladdered bitch!" as he races to find a microphone so we can all listen to her pee. This is punk comedy at its finest.
· Until August 29. Box office: 0131-556 6550.
