I went into this show expecting a quirky comedy set with some live music. I left feeling like I’d witnessed something far more intimate, watching someone be funny and heartbreakingly sincere at the same time.

In his debut at the Adelaide Fringe, Connor Morel delivers what’s billed as a rock monologue and yes, there’s a phenomenal live band and blistering original songs however, calling it that almost undersells the experience. It’s theatre. It’s stand-up. It’s a gig. It’s therapy, but loud and cathartic and shared with a room full of strangers.

The premise alone is enough to hook you: at 17, Connor is playing a gig when his dad turns up unannounced. The twist? They’ve never met before. What unfolds with timed anticipation is brave honesty. Connor doesn’t paint himself as the wounded hero or his father as a caricature villain. Instead, he explores the absurdity and fragility of masculinity, the strange scripts men inherit, and the awkwardness of trying to connect when you don’t even know what the rules are. It’s tight but not polished to sterility.

The humour is sharp and self-aware, but it never undercuts the emotional stakes. If anything, it makes them hit harder. You can be laughing at his humour, then winded by a lyric that lands squarely in your chest. This show doesn’t offer neat resolutions. It offers tenderness and recognition; Connor’s storytelling is almost confessional. It’s reflective, funny, moving, and unexpectedly life-affirming, this is storytelling at its most human. Connor Morel hasn’t just created a show, he’s created a space where laughter and vulnerability can sit side by side, backed by a killer soundtrack.