Does Boothby Graffoe suffer from an inferiority complex?

Why else would this brilliant comic choose to surround himself with performers so obviously less funny and talented than he is?

Club Boothby, a carnival of misfits and mediocrity, came alive when Graffoe took the mike and showered his fans with the bile and bitterness for which he is adored.

When he abdicated the stage for one of his motley band of brothers and sisters, things began to go awry.

To be fair, nervous comic Simon Fox had a good line in lewdness and biscuits. His banjo version of Beethoven's Ode To Joy struck the perfect note.

Ayvid Illiams, a fake American singer, was less impressive. And the random poet brought on stage to read earnest stanzas about Albert Einstein left the audience more than a bit baffled.

Not content with the comic singer's traditional prop of a lone banjo or guitar, Graffoe led a five-piece band, including an exceptional fiddler, in a lengthy set of comic compositions.

Unfortunately some of the jokes lost their impact when stretched across three or four verses. Graffoe may be one of the better comedy songwriters on the circuit but he was still funnier when he talked.

The show's stand-out moments were his acid asides, often dropped casually between two lengthy songs of little consequence.

The frustrated rock star certainly looked like he enjoyed himself on Saturday night. His audience may have preferred a little more quality Boothby time.