A SCOTSMAN, Englishman, Welshman and Northern Irishman walk on to a stage. They are The Union, a successful band in serious debt, due to the financial misdeeds of others.
* * * *
They stand allegorically for the UK and its countries; Damo, commanding and consdescending; Barry, chippy in the creative engine room, so disgruntled that he leaves ‘The Union’. The rhythm section are Gryff, archetypal awkward bassist; and Aaron the athletic drummer, ready for an Iron Man challenge until tempestuous ex Sinead drives him to drink.
All four play their parts, as do the actors portraying them, decent musicians who give committed performances, while the excellent score from Gordon McIntyre of Edinburgh’s ballboy is an essential fifth presence.
It’s not exactly subtle and, while the script is very funny in places, the satire is often laid on with some sort of inappropriately indelicate allegorical tool. Still, it is nice to see a decent attempt to find the funny in these complicated, prickly times.
Until 25 August