There's not a lot of pink in this show – the four Scandinavian singers who make up FORK spend most of it clad either in dazzling white or figure-hugging black leather – but there is a huge amount of noise. For four people using only their mouths and a looping machine, it's an astonishing amount. It's fair to say that it is not one of the most intellectually demanding shows of the Fringe, but after a gruelling day of French physical theatre about genocide and Tom Paulin's Free Jazz Hour, maybe the musical equivalent of a hot bubble bath with a comically exaggerated light-show will be exactly what you need.Although the wide age range of the audience precluded any strong innuendo, the group are still camper than John Barrowman and Alan Carr co-managing a San Francisco Millets. Their between-song banter is especially enjoyable, at times cattily harassing uncomfortable audience members, while group member Mia prowls the stage like a Eurovision dominatrix. Given the nature of the stereotypes they play on I was surprised there was no ABBA in their repertoire; but they're Finnish, not Swedish, and maybe in the self-aggrandising superstar profile the group ironically play up to they're already above such base comparisons.I didn't personally know or like about fifty per cent of the material they covered, but this is clearly not a show aimed at jaded elitist hacks like myself, and only a tin-eared churl would deny their evident and versatile talents. Some songs, however, work better than others – a Lady Gaga medley that segues into Queen will always be more grippingly upbeat than a vocal take on Coldplay's 'Viva La Vida'. FORK's musicianship speaks so persuasively for itself that they don't need to rely on demonstrating virtuosity when they carry off sheer tongue-in-cheek showmanship with such humour and panache. It's not always clever, but it's big brash fun, and few hours of entertainment will pass quicker at this year's Fringe.
