Russell Brand: Re:Birth at Bristol's Colston Hall

Posted on: 2017-06-01

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Political firebrand, scandalous funnyman and fornicator extraordinaire: it’s fair to say that Russell Brand’s last couple of decades have been colourful. But now, asks Jamie Caddick, has the bad boy gone good?


Russell Brand Bristol

It's difficult to imagine any other comedian who could hopscotch his way so effortlessly - and hilariously - across topics as diverse and eclectic as Newsnight, placenta, metaphysics and consciousness, mental illness, the Sistine Chapel, and sowing his wild oats as a younger man like some kind of "sticky confetti." Unless, of course, that mirth-meister is Russell Brand, who brought the house down during his relentless, bowel-bustingly funny set at Colston Hall on Wednesday 31st May.

 

But with his latest tour, ‘Re:Birth’ (his first since ‘Messiah Complex’ in 2013), Brand's perspective has shifted to that of a parent, having become a father for the first time to Mabel six months ago. "What's amazing is that it's taken this long!" he jests in reference to his previous priapic reputation as a womaniser and serial shagger.

 

He's still eccentric, controversial and an utter force of nature as he leaps around the stage with such boundless, irrepressible energy and enthusiasm - you feel exhausted just listening to and watching him. Charismatic and more than ready to plunge into self-satirizing territory and poke fun at himself, he's been trying to understand the world through all its confounding, perplexing amalgam of sex, fatherhood, death, politics and modern media.  

Russell Brand Bristol

Now viewing the universe through a more responsible prism, Brand looks back through his wild and crazy life - from drug addict, bonking obsessive, Hollywood star, political revolutionary - to examine his fame-hungry, narcissistic traits, mostly with hysterical results. The impassioned Newsnight debate with Jeremy Paxman, the Ed Milliband interview in his flat, his verbal sparring with a Channel 4 news anchor over the gentrification of London ("You're a snide"); they're all here, analysed and deconstructed to brilliant, self-deprecating effect. 

 

He's also a man more than aware of his own contradictions and sometimes how ridiculously he's perceived, no matter how well-meaning his intentions. His yarn about visiting a woman working full-time for the NHS but still unable to support her family was a particularly amusing and apposite one, taking food from a woman who clearly needed it more than him before departing in a chauffeur-driven limousine. TV appearances are shamelessly mocked, incongruous newspaper headlines brilliantly ribbed. 

 

It's all about Brand, of course, but the merciless mickey-taking self-mockery of his vanity and seemingly newfound level of self-awareness makes him all the more endearing. Still bombastic, still irreverent, still enthusiastically gleeful at describing the more squeamish aspects of childbirth, his cheeky chappy Essex lad banter and bonhomie is irrefutably infectious, and there are moments when his loquacious forays into life, the universe, spirituality and our understanding of it all teeter on nothing less than sheer, mesmerizing poetry. 

 

 

The first half is looser and more improv-based than the second as he reads out embarrassing, mainly extremely rude, stories audience members submitted prior to the show, and the crowd absolutely lapped up the high-spirited, fun-loving, freewheeling banter. It also emphasized his main point that really, deep down, we're all a bunch of twisted, deliciously deviant freaks. The second was more tightly structured but nevertheless gave Brand frequent opportunity to cleverly reference some of those saucy shenanigans between the debunking and satirizing of his own image. 

 

At over two hours this was a show absolutely packed to the gunnels with bright and breezy bombast, irresistible high-energy and an overall bear-hug of love, humanity and good feeling. (Brand reluctantly took a 15-minute break but even then he sat on stage taking selfies and signing autographs with his adoring multitudes. Given the chance, he probably would have merrily carried on sharing stories and telling tales late into the night.)

 

Monogamous, clean and sober and less inclined for media attention in favour of a quieter life, this 41-year old Henley-upon-Thames resident may have calmed down a little but, pleasingly, not too much: he's still the uproarious, scathing, mischievous, ribald, derisive, roguish dandy his fans have always known and loved. 



Article by:

Jamie Caddick

Jamie is a writer, blogger, journalist, critic, film fan, soundtrack nerd and all-round Bristolian good egg.  He loves the music of Philip Glass, the art of Salvador Dali, the writings of Charles Bukowksi and Hunter S Thompson, the irreverence of Harry Hill, and the timeless, straw-chomping exuberance of The Wurzels.  You can sometimes find him railing against a surging tide of passing cyclists, or gorging himself senseless on the Oriental delights of a Cosmos all-you-can-eat buffet.