It is intriguing how certain gifted performers glide up fame's greasy pole while others find their path less lubricated. If Lee Evans can fill Wembley Arena, Simon Munnery certainly deserves better than a sparse Hampstead basement. If NW3 gastropubs employed bouncers, they ought to be throwing customers into this club where they would witness one of the most idiosyncratic mavericks of the last decade.
The first half of Munnery's set is an extended excerpt from his Edinburgh show, Noble Thoughts of a Noble Mind. The rake-thin eccentric delivers the meat of this surreal monologue with a tin kettle on his head. Lateral ideas tumble out at a frightening rate, a collision of nervous cackles and bleak announcements: "How do I feel about sex before marriage? Pessimistic."
Punchlines, however, are rarer than punters. Munnery seems to revel in being unmarketable. He has the knack of dividing audiences without going down the Jerry Sadowitz route of gratuitous offensiveness. His lunatic energy conjures up the wayward spirit of Kenny Everett while his cussedness and drone-like singing recall The Fall's Mark E Smith. There is an almost self-destructive desire to stretch the comedy rubric to breaking point. Yet when Munnery relaxes after the interval, it is obvious that he could easily make it bigger as a more straightforward stand-up comedian. Accessible gags and the deconstruction of Springsteen lyrics are punctuated by a vivid anecdote about an intellectual duel with David Baddiel. There is even a hint of satire when he muses on the antics of "King Bush II".
Fans have come to expect the unexpected with Munnery, and there is nothing more unexpected than seeing him do a conventional routine. Except, perhaps, his motorbike impression which sends him tumbling over a stool. The warped tone is maintained by the guests. Andrew Bailey makes disquieting music out of a combination of toys and junk, while John Dowie's poetry is bitter and twisted yet sentimental. Not so much a gig, more a happening. If there is a weirder event this month I'll eat Munnery's tin headgear.
Until 12 December (not on Saturday). Box office: 020 8299 2601.
