Luke Whitby’s parents were strict Pentacostal Christians who prayed in tongues and loved Jesus. Their son was a teenage goth who rebelled by listening to power metal and painting glow-in-the-dark skulls on his bedroom walls. Now in his thirties, Whitby recalls the bizarre warnings of his parents, and explains why they didn’t make sense.

Those hoping for dark and nasty comedy will go home sadly disappointed. Whitby is not everything your parents warned you about. He’s not even close. Whitby comes across as a bitter ex-goth who never really rebelled any further than hitchhiking and wearing black. His material occasionally veers into offensive territory, but to make offensive comedy work you have to cross the line then keep going so far past it that it’s funny again. Whitby just touches the line then wanders away.

As a performer, Whitby is a restless presence, hands wandering over the microphone stand and eyes flitting to the audience, then away again. He doesn’t look entirely comfortable on stage. Comedians don’t necessarily have to structure their material tightly, but if they want to ramble they’ve got to at least sound like they know where they’re going. It should be noted this was a preview show, but substantial ground needs to be covered before these issues would stop detracting from his performance.

Whitby is at his best when delighting in the silliness of heavy metal. In particular his sly comments about homoeroticism in metal culture were intriguing, and could have been developed further. But for a performer who loves the theatricality of metal, his show could have done with a dose of theatricality itself – some music playing as the audience arrived and departed would have made a huge difference to the atmosphere.