Gothic cabaret trio the Tiger Lillies play songs which are about sexual perversion, shit, pain and death - all the good things in life. Their repertoire seems to come in two flavours: rousing and comic, or slow and melancholy. After two hours it does begin to sound a bit samey though the evening is not without a few hits.

There's a lot of death in this show. The first ten to fifteen songs contain at least one murder (I'm sneaking in suicide as self-murder). A number of the songs seem fairly obvious in their lyrical focus on decomposition, putrefaction and the smell of rotting flesh. Nothing wrong in being so graphic, but lyrically it often suggest the work of a fairly precocious adolescent. This results in a lot of corpses, but sadly not one of the songs comes even within spitting distance of Brel's My Death.

Then there's the comedy. To follow a rib-tickler about a man imprisoned for fucking sheep with a humorous ditty about a man who wants to have sex with flies is a mistake. And a song about Aunt Mabel which has the chorus "Aunty Mabel/She wasn't a chick/Aunty Mabel/ She had a..." is just cringe inducing.

The one great song of the show, The Murderer is King, is a sad lament about a prisoner at the bottom of the jail's hierarchy looking enviously at those at the top. It strikes the right balance between being haunting and almost sweet which is certainly more effective than, for example, their song about someone smearing themselves in shit to scare commuters.

Maybe it's an acquired taste - the full house at the Komedia were enthralled - or maybe it's just that people think that anything even vaguely transgressive (dread word!) is automatically brilliant.