Live at the Dome remains the city’s comedy leviathan, perfectly packaging successful TV comics, comedy circuit stalwarts and internet tyros into a reasonably priced Saturday night of badinage.
The bookings are top of the shop and as most Brightonians know, the venue can’t be topped (and they’re sticking with the enlightened policy of a second interval for the procurement of grog).
By and large it’s a gentle but exceptionally keen crowd, silver of hair and as placid as a comfortably retired left-leaning university lecturer.
But Saturday’s show saw a fleeting outbreak of aggro, or what slightly less-enlightened Premier League football managers would have once termed 'handbags'.
MC Thanyia Moore was serving up some standard crowd work when the naughtiness began.
She made a few attempts to work out the ages of the Dome audience, saying "Shout out if you're in your twenties".
One disembodied croaky voice - suspiciously put on - claimed to belong to someone in their seventies.
The otherwise sharp Moore was momentarily hoodwinked, but rapidly turned a bit mardy when she realised 'Philip' probably hadn't been around to watch England lift the World Cup in '66.
A second more carnal contribution from old/young 'Philip' was given even shorter shrift, but after threats of imminent ejection we heard no more.
On stage Fin Taylor was infinitely more offensive than 'Philip' could ever be. He had a pan-global approach to near-the-knuckle gags, of which next to nothing is quotable in a family newspaper or website.
He's not quite in the league of the uncompromising Gerry Sadowitz in terms of unbridled fury but has a similar scorched earth policy which sees everything as fair game.
Young Essex comic Wes Defoe was a far gentler prospect, with a very physical short set which he fizzed through with plenty of energy.
Welsh broadcaster and podcast supremo Elis James is an experienced performer on both stage and the small screen but his most recent shows have been his first non-Welsh stand up gigs in eight years.
The charm and the stage craft were there in spades but the material was a little sketchier, and would benefit from a few more run-outs, in Cymru, London or beyond.
Headliner Fern Brady was by far the best turn of the evening.
The effortlessly funny Scot, who happens to have autism, delivered a punchy, juicy set via Miriam Margolyes, Botox injections and her unwillingness to be the subject of any lazy autism narratives.
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