Review by Marissa Burgess

As we walk into the room, we are greeted by a hunched elderly fellow with a shock of black acrylic hair and teeth like a Grand National winner. In the background Maria, Wilfredo’s ‘baby sister’ sits strumming an acoustic guitar and apparently sporting the same hair and teeth as her big brother, plus some fetching pop socks that don't quite meet the hemline of her skirt.

Though he's a crudely drawn character it's almost impossible to not like comedian Matt Roper's slightly crazed lounge singer; a wheezing old Spaniard with his trousers pulled up towards his chest who is sometimes cantankerous, often lecherous and almost certainly consumptive.

To this Roper adds his tics – coughing and burping his way through the set, at one point hacking up phlegm like a horse chewing a toffee. It's a familiar construct but nevertheless he's an enjoyable creation and strangely endearing. The cod Spanish accent slips from time to time but it doesn't seem to matter that it's all a bit rough around the edges, it’s all part of the charm.

He’s gathered us here to sing some songs and read from his autobiography. Oh and of course to flirt with the ladies. The material here isn't fully mined for laughs. The songs are simple and there is much repetition of lines, making them over-long. The humour is gentle at most: ‘I am the compost and the seed, I am all you need’ is the refrain in the opening number.

Elsewhere, a song where Wilfredo repeatedly denies fatherhood of famous celebrities and their offspring has an amusing pay-off, and there are occasional other lines that are sharper – such as a comment about Phil Spector having stolen his hair.

But at 11.30 at night, nothing seems to matter too much, it's just all good fun and everyone is singing along quite happily. It's one of those oddities you stumble across at the Fringe that add to the flavour.

Review date: 26 Aug 2011
Reviewed by: Marissa Burgess