I enter the foyer of the Opera House Playhouse to bedlam. Ushers run amuck in the selfless search for lost tickets as reviewers, photographers and guests test their collective patience. In the background is the sound of a cheering crowd, the tune of the headline acts arrival and of our devastation. Eventually, tickets are found and I am escorted into the small theatre, seating no more than a few hundred.

What greets me is a whole different kind of concert experience. Correction: this wasn’t as concert. Like Flight of the Conchords, this is a comedy show that happens to feature music. But unlike Flight of the Conchords, Reggie Watts is singing a sexy love song about his lover’s birthday. In the voice of his lover. And without a single break in tone or pitch.

The ability that Reggie has is amazing, harnessing a ten-octave voice that takes on the personas of Brian McKnight, Colin Hay and Grace Jones perfectly. But it is the method in which he implements this skill that is even more impressive. In his musical performances, either with his samplers or with his keyboard, he grabs the roots of freestyle jazz, experimental music and soul and pulls them from the ground.

He interpolates what we know with his wide skill range and his absurdist ideas of society and the world. In Fuck Shit Stack, he plays with all the common set-pieces of a rap song (such as breakdowns, slow jams and irreverent references) until the entire situation seems laughable. All this, while sampling basslines from Underworld and Battles. Likewise, he uses the skills he learnt during his short-lived foray in RnB to play a song that changes course from wanting to save the world to the finer points of a woman’s panties.

But it’s in Reggie’s stand-up ability that his talents are in full-show. Away from his samplers and vocoders, he jokes in a stream-of-consciousness manner, changing topics often and never discussing the same issue twice. With the added bonus of his vocal ability, what is delivered is a truly unique routine. It deviates from the common observational jokes and instead acts as part slapstick, part one-man satire. When he fakes a faulty microphone, only to catch the punch line of an incredibly crude and sexist joke, you can’t help but laugh.

His show is short: in one night he can fit in two performances (three if he worked hard). But once it ends you feel like you could watch this man forever – so much so, you feel intoxicated on illicit drugs afterwards. And just like an illicit drug, soon enough you feel the need for more.