Sahara Bar & Restaurant, Melbourne, 11 April, 2013
There was no gang. Just Monsieur Kunt armed with an iPod filled with cheesy backing tracks to songs that tackled the big issues: the role of imagination in pre-Internet masturbatory practices; the relative merits of using the anal orifice as a vagina; the moral dilemma posed by using pictures of a deceased girlfriend as the pretext for Onanism. Get the picture?
Kunt is not exactly a sophisticated wit, yet his puerile brand of English humour manages to compel and repel in equal doses. The small, but enthusiastic crowd lapped up his shtick with gusto, especially on ‘Fucksticks’, which, as its composer informs us, is a minor Internet sensation. In turns, homophobic, misogynist, and racist, Kunt manages to appear disarmingly charming, and is never less than totally committed to his act, which consists of zany dance moves, fatuous monologues and, of course, the aforementioned pop tunes on which his reputation rests.
Kunt goes a long way towards confirming the theory, mostly held by women, that the possession of a penis is detrimental to one’s mental health. In short, Kunt is a demented cross between Benny Hill with Frank Booth (the villain with Tourette’s syndrome from Blue Velvet). I know I shouldn’t like him, but songs like ‘I sucked off a bloke (and didn’t like it)’ just put a smile on my dial (not because I’m homophobic, but because I really hate that Kay Perry song).
Oh, Fucksticks! Check him out at your own risk.