Something strange is happening in a city recently wishing to protect its citizens from ‘inciteful’ homophobic lyrics and the sensual charms of lap dancers (Burlesque doesn’t count apparently as it’s middle-class, sorry, art). These two recent council banning campaigns show a new puritanical Brighton emerging, yet it’s a city still happily hosting a comedian, magician and self proclaimed ‘psychopath’ at its annual festival, a man specialising in hate speech. But, believe it or not, Brighton is in good need of the refreshing shower of spittle and bile sprayed upon every touchstone taboo: race; rape; religion; paedophilia; disability; and sexuality, that is Jerry Sadowitz.

He emerged in the first wave of alternative comedy in 1980s’ London, and stylistically has parallels to the deliberately offensive work of Lenny Bruce or Derek and Clive, the anger and manic pace also echo Alexei Sayle’s stand up. I saw him 10 years ago filming for a late-night entertainment show and he jokes tonight about catching his screen based gags closely, as he’ll never be on TV again. He has a point and his very strength lies in his precise readings of the offence-o-meter, which is currently off the scale. So how does his sick shtick go down a decade later, in a more censorious climate?

Over the years his card tricks have shrunk to a mere linking device for the true centre piece, insulting and attacking our moral sensibilities. There is a sense, later down the line, that this comic has had to add a self-consciousness to his act, making explicit his intentions, as he has such an alien and bold purpose within the contemporary mindset, where we have to appear to be offended, regardless of our underlying perceptions. Hence the recurring line ‘well, I offend the sensitive, that’s what I do.’ Or very quick-witted response to ambient noise like the police sirens: ‘I knew they’d f****n get me, it was the McCann material that did it.’ The usual callous gags on recent natural disasters and the disabled guy in the front row still go down riotously well. Perhaps this is because such jokes are social rituals, full of cathartic laughter that permits the expression of forbidden thoughts. Most stand up functions in this territory, but Sadowitz, bulldozes you into releasing your ID. Or maybe, more simply, comedy is cruelty.

This Glaswegian drunk, dressed as Slash from Guns N Roses, gets away with his non-stop tirade of hate because of the very indiscriminate and complete range of his targets. For his act to work he must attack all areas of sensitivity and in fact asks the audience ‘is there anything I’ve missed?’. To lose the careful balance, by dominating with a topic, or missing a minority, means the persona collapses and an unacceptable authenticity seeps through.

The anti-Bush and Blair gags are easy targets getting reflex applause, but the braver, paedophilia/McCann material provokes a more interesting response. This material is there only to get winces of discomfort and sharp intakes of breath. In his defence he acknowledges the hold of the folk devil paedophile in our imaginations and riffs powerfully on the sick absurdity and ubiquity of Madeline’s image. He also delivers some excellent impressions of the new breed of cowardly bloggers out to slag him off in cyberspace, with naff anonymous names like ‘thunderkick22.’ ‘Why 22?’ ‘Coz there were 21 other c***s in Hackney, living alone with their parents thinking this’ll make me sound exciting!’

Brighton inevitably gets its turn, with attacks on the D-list celebrities on one side of town and gays and potential tsunamis on the other ‘They’re coming to crash in the middle and you’ve f*****g had it’

Interestingly though it does seem that racism is still the final forbidden territory. Although Sadowitz pays lip service in sending up the offended here, there is still no actual material attacking any particular ethnic identity. Race is only dealt with through the code of terrorism gags, fuelled by a rather tame ‘PC gone mad’ anger that you could find in local radio any day of the week. Ali G is the boldest comedian in this area and, interestingly, it is because he, like Sadowitz, is Jewish that he has permission to play the ultimate victim trump card of Jewishness. To his credit Sadowitz mocks this very subject. To hammer home this point I overhear a girl persuading her unimpressed companion on the walk home: ‘But it’s ok isn’t it? He’s Jewish, so he can have the joke.’ More immediately Jerry gets away with it by creating a protective shield from criticism, he’s got there first, imitating the whines of the you-can’t-say-that –ers “Oohh that Jerry Sadowitz, he’s soo racist’ and with a fence of anger ‘I hate punters’.

It’s ironic that a lot of the routine is filled with bitter asides on his washed up career when, in fact, a stand up who specialises in pushing buttons of offence, in a culture specialising in speech censorship, is clearly having his day, albeit in the sanctioned arena of comedic performance.