It’s surely not the most conducive of audiences, packed with industry types notoriously reticent when it comes to laughing out loud. But there also were real punters in the Glee Club for the stand-up showcase launching the BBC comedy festival in Cardiff last night and it can’t do any comic’s career much harm being on the broadcaster’s radar in this way.

The first person gregarious host Kiri Pritchard-McLean chatted to was a writer-director, the second a regular comedy-goer. Though ‘regular’ was certainly not how she characterised him, painting a picture of a semi-tragic, possibly predatory, single man that became a running joke. He was happy to be in on it.

First up, after she warmed the room as much as it was going to be warmed, was Dan Tiernan, here as the current holder of the BBC New Comedy Award. Dyspraxic Dan –  if that doesn’t sound like a failed Beano character – is an edgy act to be opening as he dances around the line of political correctness. His  condition gives him just enough licence to mock those he was at special school with in a way others couldn't. It’s tempered by self-deprecation in a set that’s interspersed with primal howls of torment, giving compelling glimpses of a troubled psyche that he’s harnessing very effectively for comedy.

Freya Parker – one half of the Lazy Susan sketch duo now embarking on a solo stand-up career – struggled to make such an impact. Her persona as a self-described ‘lovely girl’ is rather bland, and her set, revolving around such topics as being short and having a porn-star namesake, too waffly. She alighted on a couple of decent jokes – and as an actress she can hold the stage even with little audience response - but her writing is far too airy.

Tim Renkow can also hold attention, and half his routine was dedicated to a slow-burn story about taking the horrifying elevators at Union Square subway station in New York. But the audience hung on his every word  as he’d already established his funny credentials with hard-hitting jokes about a visit to Anne Frank’s house, and his opening line, which is wonderfully efficient in setting out his stall as a disabled comic and a mischief-maker: ‘I make people uncomfortable. I know I do. I do it on purpose.’ His cerebral palsy means the material has built-in pauses, which he exploits to build crucial anticipation.

After the interval, the platform was handed over to Welsh-based acts, starting with Mel Owen, pictured, a newish comedian and a very promising one. She’s got bags of easy charm, combining cheekiness and self-deprecation, and an unusual background of being the only person of colour in the village (apart from her mum) which she exploits skilfully. As well tales of growing up on the farm, this personable comic makes light of everyday racism, mocking those dumb enough to practise it, while also exploiting liberal guilt when hit suits her. But the engaging set also has a wider range, she depicting herself, for example, as above everyday drudgeries like DIY.

Zimbabwe-born, Cardiff-based Tadiwa Mahlunge also has some strong material on race, assimilation and identity (given he has the cut-glass RP accent of his homeland’s colonisers) and the success ethic drilled into every immigrant child. Given the latter, it may be no surprise that he’s doing pretty well at stand-up. His manner is of the quietly confident nerd, and there’s plenty of intelligence behind this  act, that speaks softly but carries a big, funny, stick.

Finally, Ignacio Lopez with an effective but workmanlike set, drawing on his Spanish heritage and local knowledge, with plenty of gags demeaning neighbouring Newport for being a bit shit. He quips about meaningless English idioms and leans into stereotypes, mocking the Brits who flock to the Costas for their holidays by way of rewriting the lyrics to Rihanna’s Umbrella.

Nothing’s especially original, but it gets the job done before he plugs his socials and his tour date back in this venue later in the year, then poses for a cheesy gig selfie with the audience.