Rob Copland rockets into the room, pure energy. We’re clapping, he’s dancing. He’s clapping, someone else is dancing.
When the music dips, the energy doesn’t. He steals about the stage, raising an eyebrow, clawing at the air, swinging his mic in precarious arcs, promising us he has never once dropped it. He draws our attention to a bar stool – some comics would take a seat, he scoffs, but this is standup. His mesmerically physical delivery elevates every punchline.
