Backstage at the underground: Shrute and Tungsta, a Fringe review

Since the ‘80s, the underground’s kinda gone … underground. Wanna know where the diehard denizens have been been holding out?

In the bathroom of a big Berlin techno club that’s shaking from the pounding reverb. That’s where Shrute and Tungsten, German ‘performance artistes’ slightly frayed around the edges, are rattling around, crouched over a speaker.

How long have they been there? The duo seem starved for company, eager to impress us, shock us maybe with their avant-garde groove. Shrute (Aidan Collins) is the bigger, talkier, more extroverted one, doing close-ups selfies of themself eating (OK, that is pretty gross) and being punk sexy. They’re the one that ventures into the audience. Tungsta (Harper Oud) is small and expressionless, silent and surly till they’re doing show-and-tell with tiny prize ‘objets’. And there’s even a masked third party, a burly dancer (and go-fer) who enters, and gets shoo-ed off the stage from time to time. I’ll leave the plastic wrap sequence with you.

When the pair gets gets offered a recording contract a big underground label, ah, the seduction of money and fame — there’s dissension. Shrute is pro; Tungsten is against selling out. “They don’t even know what art is.” Will this spell the end of their relationship (and German accents)?

Collins and Oud are a couple of this town’s up-and-coming artists (watch for them), and their show is inventive, deadpan fun, and unlike anything you could possibly see anywhere else. It’s risky by being playful about risky-ness. And doesn’t your Fringe need something weird like that?