The mysterious past misdeed, whose nature is withheld until the play’s closing stages, is a staple of the nebulous sub-genre known as New Writing. Suitably enough, Fear of Music – by up-and-coming playwright Barney Norris – begins with a teasing flash-forward: Andy (Jack Finch), clearly agitated, rushes into his bedroom as sirens blare in the background. However, there is nothing cynical about Fear of Music; unlike much new writing, it does not reek with the fumes of the workshop. It is honest, understated and true.

Fear of Music returns to the Tristan Bates Theatre a year after it first run – and what a difference a year makes. The show comes replete with a new cast, a new title (it was previously called Missing) and, most significantly, a cash injection from Arts Council England. The new subsidy is evident as soon as one enters the theatre: the sparse set of last year has been replaced by an elaborate façade of wall-to-wall cassettes.

The play – the second by Out of Joint assistant and former AYT contributor Norris – is a two-hander examining the relationship between two brothers between 1988 and 1993. Luke (Hasan Dixon) and Andy live in dreary Andover. Their military father is dead and their mother’s mind is rapidly deteriorating. The bookish Luke is off to university; the rock-loving Andy, to Luke’s dismay, intends to join the army.

The dynamic between the two brothers is brilliantly portrayed. Whether it’s Andy teasing Luke about his girlfriend or Luke teasing Andy about his ideas for band names, Norris has a strong feel for the uniquely fraternal combination of affection, hostility and one-upmanship, and the performances do the writing justice. Fear of Music is also strong on the theme of memory: at several points, Luke, returning from university, gives tender soliloquies in which he dissects his experiences of Andy growing up. It is not surprising that Norris should excel in this area – memory was the guiding theme of his previous effort, At First Sight.

The feverish chronology of the play is also well handled. Our picture of the brothers’ relationship develops through non-linear snapshots; we jump from the late ’80s to the early ’90s and back, with blasts of The Stone Roses, R.E.M. and the like acting as a temporal anchor. The actors also help us along through economical devices – namely swapping beds and changing particular items of clothing – that create an effective visual code.

Being only the writer’s second play, there are some conspicuous, though forgivable, faults in the writing. The pacing is occasionally misjudged, particularly during the play’s final moments. The nature of Andy’s transgression is revealed at the very last moment, at which point the play abruptly ends; I could have done with some breathing space to digest this new information. What’s more, while the sense of period is well evoked, it’s less clear what it adds. The publicity draws parallels between Andy’s predicament and Thatcherism in a country that “doesn’t look after its own”, but the onstage dynamic is too intensely personal for the play to feel like a social document.

Nevertheless, Norris has succeeded in crafting an extraordinarily rich and humane portrayal of a relationship. Its virtue is in its simplicity: there is a refreshing unaffectedness about it. Only at one point – when Luke describes staring at fields “cleaved open like ham cut from bone” – does the play seem self-consciously literary.

Fear of Music is in large part a play about dreams and ambitions: both brothers dream of escaping; Andy dreams of rock stardom. With plays like these, Barney Norris can justifiably dream of future renown.

Fear of Music plays at the Tristan Bates Theatre until 2 March, after which it tours the country until March 27. For more information, see the website of Up in Arms theatre company

When Mark (Joe Doherty) came on stage, ranting and swearing like a talking bulldog, I thought Bones would leave me checking my watch every ten seconds, dying to run out of Tristan Bates Theatre and back home. When Mark started describing different ways to can kill a baby, it felt like an urban, street version of that episode of Friends when Chandler is left alone in a theatre with a woman going on about her tiresome life, period and divorce for three hours.

But then something happened – Doherty suddenly changed his attitude and went soft for a glimpse of a second. The anger gave way, just for a moment, to something very dark, deep and truthful. From then on, I was utterly hooked, with no chance of escaping the disturbing and raw tragedy of this young man’s life.

Mark doesn’t have much. He lives with his mother, who has given up her life and spirit to alcohol, prostitution and a screaming baby. “She doesn’t feel like my mum. She doesn’t do stuff mums do. She gets leathered and smacked up and tries to shag my friends”. Even so, he won’t leave her and is desperate to sort her life out – beginning with getting rid of the new baby. Mark doesn’t have a job, doesn’t know his father and finds escape in drinking too much at the pub and getting cheap blowjobs in the dark corners of abandoned streets. He’s violent, angry and initially not very likeable – but as the play goes on and he confesses what has led him to his current place, the audience are drawn into his shattered life.

It is a huge task being in charge of a one man show. You are on stage all the time, have to interact with the audience, and must construct the whole story with only your words. Doherty masters all of this, and is superb as the tough but insecure Mark. People like Mark don’t get sympathy – but Doherty manages to get his audience past the barrier, revealing a frightened and heartbreakingly vulnerable boy. There is a truth in Doherty’s acting that carries the whole piece, as Mark struggles between keeping up the armour and opening up his heart. I found myself leaning forward, shocked and completely lost to the words and pains of Doherty’s Mark. Doherty showed off his amazing talent by transforming completely when the lights went on, showing a humble and sweet actor who’s clearly worked very hard for his profession.

Jane Upton’s play is raw, dark and honest and she has a great eye for detail – things you didn’t quite understand are beautifully brought back later on, and the holding back of final explanations secures the thrill and nasty taste of the play. Laura Ford and Angharad Jones’ direction is clear, sharp and spot on, and Nathan Rose’s cold and unfriendly set design gives us the feeling of Mark’s world shutting him out, leaving him in a distant and suffocating atmosphere. Bones is strong, precise and brutally honest, telling the story of a young man’s fears and his struggle against a world that won’t support him.

Bones is playing at the Tristan Bates Theatre in Covent Garden until 3 November. For more information and tickets, see the Tristan Bates Theatre website.

With its bizarre language, penchant for violence, and portrayal of an insular and dangerous youthful society, Enda Walsh’s play Disco Pigs is of the same ilk as Anthony Burgess’s infamous A Clockwork Orange. Currently showing at the lovely Tristan Bates Theatre, Blue Crate Theatre – a new company made up of recent Bristol Old Vic theatre school graduates – pull out all possible psychedelic stops to make this production an explosion of noise, colour and animalistic vitality.

There is much to commend in this imaginative retelling of a friendship ruined by unrequited love. From Max Dorey’s fabulous graffitied set, to the consummate ease with which its two inhabitants fill it and captivate our attention, the production’s inventiveness is matched by all round professionalism. As the play progresses, we see the skill with which both Edmund Digby-Jones as Pig and Lorna Jinks as Runt can manipulate a variety of emotions and tempos. Digby-Jones’ usual crazy mania made his longing for Runt all the more poignant, his prowess at the puppy-dog eyes act encapsulated by his superb description of his sexual desire for her. Jinks as Runt likewise oscillated brilliantly between laughter and pensiveness, delicately building up a sense that she was growing up and out of the bubble-like world she and Pig had formed for themselves.

Damagingly, however, this exposé of both characters didn’t happen for the first half an hour. Instead, the start saw us bombarded with an unrelentingly fast-paced, high-energy, manic piece that seemed to have very little plot. The new language, insufficiently clear diction, unfamiliar accents, and variety of narrative techniques employed (actors rapidly shifted in and out of speech and third person narration), all combine to make for a confusing beginning. We really needed director Anna Simpson to give us a few more pointers to help us work out what was going on. As such, the first part was simply not lucid enough and so the effective parts – for example the guttural noises and animalistic eating – felt more like ingredients to be appreciated individually than contributions to a coherent whole.

When more of a plot (and some much-needed silences) began to emerge, Simpson’s directorial capabilities shone through more clearly. From offering Runt ketchup, to his subtle positioning behind her and postures chosen, little touches conveyed Pig’s adoration with wonderful simplicity. Most indicative of the cast and crew’s talent was how completely they managed to manipulate my emotions for two very similar scenes: early on in the play, I had felt almost immune to the violence when Pig pretended to be a jealous boyfriend and beat up one of Runt’s admirers for fun; however, in an almost identical rerun at the play’s end, when he did so out of true jealousy and against Runt’s wishes, the scene felt horrifyingly and unwatchably brutal.

While the play does feel rather overly indebted to A Clockwork Orange, and Simpson’s start and the difficult-to-follow accents are very problematic, Dirty Pig showcases real talent in an innovative, interesting, and very colourful production. The cast put their all into it (as you can tell by the almost inhuman quantities of sweat and spit coming from Digby-Jones) and once Blue Crate Theatre’s hiccups are ironed out with more professional productions, I have no doubt that this exciting new company will be an integral part of London’s future.

Disco Pigs is playing at Tristan Bates Theatre until Saturday 8September. For more information and tickets please see the Tristan Bates Theatre website.

Shelter is written and directed by Ash Rowbin as part of The Camden Fringe 2012 – a triptych of plays that explores what it means to be young and the feeling of belonging.

The piece is set in the Tristan Bates black box studio theatre space at The Actor’s Centre, Covent Garden – so a prime location for new writing and audience access. Unfortunately, the piece fails to deliver any real impacting message and seems too focussed on ‘being natural’ than what the writing is actually trying to say. The ensemble fidget uncomfortably, seeming unsure of objectives and understanding of their characters.

You first meet a couple of strangers, Jeremy and Olivia, at a university party played by a unique, intriguing Oliver Cudbill and Lizzie MacGregor. The direction is upstaging and you only ever see the profile of a Macgregor’s face. They look uncomfortable with the staging and their hands are stuck in pockets. There is playful banter and well-timed looks between the pair that suggest a chemistry could develop, but this needs to be energised in order to make the relationship between the characters convincing.

In the second section of the piece, we meet a pair of ‘lovers’ who perform apologetically and seem hesitant. Jamal Lowe plays Luke, struggling to convince his long term girlfriend Emily (Samantha Sherratt) that “everything will be ok”. Lines as strong as “I would do anything for you” are thrown away in embarrassment, and use of syntax and emphasis is unclear. Lowe has such a strong look about him that overshadows his scene partner, but belief in what he’s saying is the only way the scene can become plausible. It would help if Sherratt didn’t spend her time facing the back of the stage but let him read her face and eyes. Unforunately, they are far from ‘lovers’.

The third play shows more promise, with a stealing performance from Simpson who plays Andrew, a graduate who is desperate to get back to his university partying days and is trying to persuade some old flat mates to want the same whilst at a friend’s wedding. Sarcastic Claire, a housemate who moved out as soon as possible, played by Bexie Archer (who looks staggeringly like model/actress Lily Cole), provides a great energy for the bouncing argument and misunderstood anger between the two. They are ably supported by Lucy O’Connor playing Katie, who provides a naturalism that is raw but lacking in detail. It is a shame the writing dips here in a poorly timed, over extended foetus ‘joke’ and comes across as very rushed writing. At least the actors commit to the joke, but with a weak start to the piece, the conviction can’t regain an audiences suspension of disbelief.

The sparse set is appropriate if used correctly. The centre stage flower pot and cigarette butts in the opening scene block the almost possible chemistry between Cudbill and Macgregor. You are distracted by their inability to keep still. There is a beauty in stillness that the director needs to encourage, and the cast’s objectives in such tightly focused scenes need clarifying.

The company show promise and intentions are good and encouraging. You dart between which character you agree with and you do question the value of each point made. But with a tag line as powerful as “We hold a mirror up to the audience and show them themselves”, the production needs to attack rather than present.

To book for Shelter at Tristan Bates Theatre visit http://www.tristanbatestheatre.co.uk or call 020 7240 6283. Shelter plays until 11 August.