YORK Barbican is the Switzerland of York venues, a neutral sort of place where performers have the chance to give it their own character for the night.

Some comedians succeed, others fall short, over-stretched when the red velvet theatres would better suit them. West Countryman Bill Bailey, however, could perform anywhere, such is his comedic bonhomie, his largesse of spirit and his ability to use all the stage.

Not for Bill will one microphone suffice. His Limboland is a land with Bailey's name and show title in neon lights; a Singin' In The Rain lamp post; a tower of keyboards, a log drum; myriad guitars, a mandola; a smoker's pipe and a revolving platform for Bailey's entry. Everything comes into play in more than two hours of sublime, surreal, satirical, philosophical, psychological, political, playful chatter from frankly the most sage man in Britain.

Comedians can be irritating in their one-tracked desire to be amusing, but Bill Bailey is so much more rounded than that. He dismisses politics in an early savage assessment of all the parties, one by one, always finding the right phrase for Cameron, Corbyn and UKIP alike, and his language is a thing of delight and wonder throughout, whether spinning haikus or telling stories of a disastrous family trip to see the Northern Lights in Norway and the occasion he became tongue-tied in the presence of Beatle Paul McCartney.

A Bailey show takes in physical comedy, facial looning, dialect impersonation and audience participation. It revels in musical pastiches of Adele melancholia and Moby electronica and Adele melancholia; in proving every song, even Yellow Submarine, can sound better when done in a heavy metal style; and in turning Happy Birthday into Kurt Weil Weimar cabaret in a minor key. It savours literature, poetry, flights of lyrical language, the world of birds, simple pleasures, quirks and playing the class clown with the Shakespearean Fool's wisdom.

The show's title originally came from Bill surmising that we are in a limboland where the reality of what we achieve is different from our initial hopes, but more prevalent now are Bill's thoughts on why we Brits settle for always answering "Not Too Bad" when asked how we are, as he mulls over why we find it hard to express our emotions.

In particular, Bill assesses how the British version of happiness differs from, say, our Scandinavian neighbours. How we're happy because things could have been worse; how our ludicrous optimism is shown in having the highest percentage of convertible cars in Europe. Take this thought with you, courtesy of our most astute comic: "Contentment is knowing you're right; happiness is knowing when someone else is wrong." How true.

Such is Bill Bailey's joy in performance that even serendipity falls into his lap. Who should his audience banter lead him to but a member of a Doncaster operatic metal band, Aonia. Cue Bill improvising a song in that exact style. What a scream.

Bill Bailey, Limboland, York Barbican, tonight at 8pm