Nick Helm

I've never quite understood why people fret when faced with the idea of sitting in the front row for a stand up performance. You'll probably get asked who you are and what you do, and the inevitable joke about coal miners, astronauts or neurologists will follow, but not about you, it's a joke the comedian has in the armoury. Sit tight, don't answer back and it'll be over soon enough, leaving you with the extra leg room that felt like the risk was worth it.

The exception is Nick Helm, who not only berates the front row, but fills it. Having noted the empty seats at the front of the audience he immediately jumped off stage and went on safari, picking off solitary victims foolish enough to sit at the end of a row.

"It's an upgrade," he shouted, as a poor soul was dragged from the very back to the very front.

I've seen him move whole rows of people before, and was in that row it happened, and it's remarkable how compliant you become in the face of his belligerent indignation. I've even seen him leave the venue and drag unimpressed people back into the show. It's all performative rage, of course, and there were actually very few seats to fill in the cavernous Epic Studios that the Norwich Arts Centre had wisely relocated for the night. Notwithstanding that much of the show dealt with his diminishing popularity, he still seems to have his fans in Norwich.

One might have thought the feeling was mutual given Helm's closing remark that the evening was in his top twenty of the tour. Welcome news, you might think, but I've counted the shows so far, and there's only been twenty-two. It was a backhanded compliment from a man whose stage persona is aggressive, intimidating and unpredictable. It may all be an act, but it's an alarmingly convincing one. Only occasionally did the mask slip. After a group of front row bravehearts, who were obviously refreshed, chipped in just once too often, he stopped bellowing to simply advise "It's not that kind of show. I do write this stuff."

In fairness to the hecklers, they could be forgiven for thinking otherwise during an extended routine about the large mirror that came with the home he now lives in. Granted this involved some harmless, and deliberately pointless, audience participation, but it didn't really go anywhere. Far more effective, or at least affecting, was his recollections of a childhood, bullied as the fat boy, something that led to bulimia. Hardly fun packed, but it was engaging, and served as a template for the evening. Nick Helm, at least based on the evidence of the night, is more a raconteur than a comedian. There is humour in his stories, but whether it's the deliberately shocking sex toy revelation, or the heart warming experience of holidaying with his Mum, it's the telling of the tale that matters. He was astonishingly candid about his depression following the cancellation of the excellent Uncle, as well as the psychological problems he still struggles with. What kept us listening was the stark vulnerability that he was prepared to reveal. The evident discomfort this caused said more about our attitude to mental health issues that words ever could.

Not that this was all he revealed. Having stripped off layers of clothing throughout the evening, he was down to a shiny pair of pants when the show closed with Down On The Devil, a Faustian plea for the fame he has lost. It was just one of a series of musical numbers that punctuated an evening that started with Drop the Motherfucker - we were invited to join in the chorus - and included a paean to the air guitar and a evocatively understated homage to Nosferatu. Full use was made of Epic's glitterball, along with cheap little devils, helium balloons, illuminating wings, and all enveloping smoke. If you listened to the words, there were jokes aplenty to enjoy, but Helm has such a solid, rock-god voice that it was easier to sit back and enjoy the experience.

It says much for Helm's evident charm - almost in spite of himself - that a combination of meandering chat and show tunes worked at all, let alone proved thoroughly engaging. When the show had finished I walked past him standing by the merch stall, talking very sweetly to a starstruck member of the audience. He had thankfully put some clothes on and, despite the bedraggled beard looked like a normal, upstanding human being talking respectfully to a fan. I wonder if he'll ever be brave enough to show that side of himself on stage.