James Barr is no stranger to making people laugh, whether it’s waking up the UK on the Hits Radio Breakfast Show, co-hosting the award-winning A Gay and A NonGay podcast, or commanding the stage with his razor-sharp wit. But his latest stand-up show, Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum), goes far deeper than your average comedy set. Returning to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with a reworked version of last year’s critically acclaimed debut, Barr boldly turns the lens on his own lived experience of domestic abuse within a same-sex relationship—and does so with fearless humour.
With LGBTQ+ domestic violence often shrouded in silence and stigma, James Barr is using comedy to start the conversations so many are afraid to have. Blending personal storytelling with piercing punchlines, his show confronts the complexities of queer trauma, masculinity, and shame, all while ensuring audiences leave laughing, reflecting, and, above all, listening. In this exclusive interview, James Barr opens up to Good Star Vibes about finding healing through humour, the evolution of his show, and the importance of breaking cycles by telling the truth.
James, your show Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum) tackles deeply personal and difficult subject matter through comedy. What inspired you to choose humour as the vehicle to share your experience of domestic abuse in a same-sex relationship?
I’ve always laughed at the most difficult things in life. I think that’s just how I’ve learned to heal. And when you look through history, that’s how we all heal. Even survivors of the Titanic joked about it. Really! So for me, comedy felt like the only way through this. It was the only space that felt safe enough to hold something so personal. And honestly, how can you not find it funny that when you tell someone you’ve been violently abused and they look more sad than you? Like… what?
Comedy is cathartic, but it’s also kind of twisted, a bit like abuse itself. There’s a pattern to jokes that mirrors control, surprise, tension, release. And there are a lot of abusive people in comedy, too, let’s be real. But I think using the structure of comedy to expose and unravel abuse, especially in a queer context, just felt too rich, and too right, to ignore.
You’ve mentioned that the show has evolved and grown alongside your own healing process. Can you share some ways the show has changed since its debut last year?
Well, firstly, it’s a lot funnier. I’ve replaced my boyfriend’s punches with punchlines. This version has more bite. It lands harder. It says what I really want to say, in a way the earlier version didn’t. And I’m proud of that first hour; it was an incredible thing for me to do, especially in the middle of processing everything. But this show takes it to the next level. It’s sharper, more fearless, and I think it finally does the story justice.
Domestic abuse within LGBTQ+ relationships is often overlooked in public conversations. From your perspective, what are the biggest misconceptions people have about abuse in queer relationships?
The truth is, it’s not just overlooked in public conversations; it’s often overlooked in our own conversations, too. There are plenty of misconceptions about queer people, but I think the most dangerous ones are the ones we believe. We tell ourselves that abuse can’t happen to us because we’re gay, that our relationships are somehow different or immune. But that’s simply not true. In fact, the rates of domestic abuse are actually higher in LGBTQ+ relationships.
So I wouldn’t say there’s just a “public misconception”, I’d say there’s a public silence. And I don’t know exactly why that is, or whose fault it is, but I think it’s partly because, as queer people, we’ve spent so long trying to prove that we’re happy. That we’re healthy. That our love is valid. We’re trying to win acceptance from straight people, from the world, and it’s hard to admit when things aren’t so great. But we have to. Because telling the truth is how we change the narrative and keep each other safe.
How do societal expectations around masculinity and heteronormativity impact gay male survivors when it comes to recognising and reporting domestic abuse?
Well, you think that you can’t possibly be a victim because you’re both men, and you could hit back, right? That was my logic at the time. I think, for a lot of gay men, masculinity really messes with our understanding of that. You think I’m a man. I go to the gym. I can top sometimes. How could I possibly be a victim? But that’s exactly the problem. Those ideas of strength, dominance and masculinity stop us from seeing what’s happening. And they stop us from asking for help.
Yeah, we get that—we go to the gym sometimes, we think we can top sometimes (haha). Masculinity and heteronormativity have definitely impacted us, too. Your show blends stand-up comedy with raw, emotional storytelling. How do you balance the comedic elements with the more serious, painful themes you address?
I just made sure that I never undercut the truth. That was the most important thing: every single joke had to serve the story. Nothing could diminish the weight of what I’d been through or who I am. So all the comedy is grounded in truth. It’s still really funny, but it’s never a distraction, never a deflection. If anything, the laughter brings people closer to the hard stuff. So how do I address serious, painful themes? I make everybody laugh.
You’ve taken Sorry I Hurt Your Son internationally, including Australia. Have audience reactions differed across locations, and how have those experiences influenced your performance or message?
Taking the show abroad has been such a growth moment. I did a work-in-progress version in Copenhagen, and I was nervous. Everyone there seemed really sweet, and I didn’t want to go too hard on the trauma. I was worried, ‘Are they going to understand ‘dommy buse’? But they did. That experience gave me more confidence. Then after Edinburgh last year, I took it to Australia and that’s where it really found its funny. Performing there gave me permission to go harder on the jokes and trust that the audience could handle it.
We can handle it—go as hard as you like! Could you elaborate on the role that Russell T Davies played in encouraging you to dig deeper into your story and how his feedback shaped the show’s development?
He said the audience needed to know more about who my ex was. For a long time, I’d resisted doing that. I didn’t want him to be identifiable, and I still don’t. But Russell helped me realise that giving him backstory didn’t mean protecting him, it meant helping the audience understand me.
So I went back through our memories, and I ended up writing a whole new beginning to the show about who he was to me, how we met, and what I thought we had. I won’t share exactly what Russell said, because it was brutal… but let’s just say, he got the message across. And it changed the show completely. And I’m so grateful and lucky to have such incredible support from one of the greatest storytellers in the world.
Your podcast, “A Gay and A NonGay”, has become a key platform for discussions on LGBTQ+ relationships. How do you see your comedy and podcast work complementing each other in raising awareness and fostering understanding?
They both start important conversations, and they make people feel safe enough to actually have them. With “A Gay and A NonGay”, it’s about opening up a dialogue between two very different perspectives. With my comedy, it’s about turning something painful into something people can laugh at, relate to, and talk about. Whether I’m on stage or behind a mic, the goal’s the same. To tell the truth, challenge shame, and make people feel less alone
In your opinion, what practical steps or changes are most urgently needed to better support LGBTQ+ survivors of domestic abuse?
I think people want a big, sweeping answer here, but honestly? We just need to start having the conversation. That’s the first, most urgent step. Let’s talk about what’s actually happening inside our community. Because sometimes, the hate crime is coming from inside the house. Until we break that silence with honesty, compassion, and a bit of dark humour, nothing changes. But it’s also not for me to figure out, I’m gonna tell my story. Make some funny, stupid jokes about it, remove the shame, and then someone far more intelligent than me can come along and do the hard policy bit.
The title of your show comes from your ex’s words to your mother, that was found in a Christmas card: “Sorry I hurt your son.” How important was it for you to confront that moment publicly, and what impact has sharing it had on you personally?
Honestly, I just thought it was fucking funny. That’s not an apology, it’s a total avoidance of accountability. He apologised to my mum? What’s she got to do with it? And from hearing other people’s stories, I’ve realised it’s a pattern. A lot of abusive partners apologise to the parents, like that somehow makes it better. So I thought: fine. If that’s your line, I’m putting it everywhere. On the poster. On the tickets. In the title. Because it says SO much. I loved sharing it. Because in a way, it feels like I’ve forced abusers to take accountability just by using one of their favourite avoidant phrases against them.
That’s literally so empowering and inspirational! You were nominated for the British LGBT Awards as one of the Top 10 Public Figures for your courageous work, which Alex Scott ultimately won. How does receiving this kind of recognition influence your mission and future projects?
Just being nominated felt like a little note from the universe. A nod that says, keep going, you’re on the right path. It’s not about winning; the nomination was the one. When the work is so personal and sometimes quite isolating, recognition just helps a bit. Like, it doesn’t define the mission, but it definitely helps you believe in it. And that means a lot.
Looking ahead, how do you hope Sorry I Hurt Your Son and your broader work in comedy and advocacy will continue to challenge stereotypes and support survivors in the LGBTQ+ community?
I want to make people laugh and feel less alone. I want them to know their worth. I hope someone watches this show and leaves an abusive relationship to prioritise their own safety. Look, I’m not trying to be the Dalai Lama of domestic abuse, especially after that weird “suck my tongue” thing he did a few years ago. I’m telling the truth, making it funny, and hopefully giving people permission to talk about the stuff we usually bury so that we can finally stop perpetuating the cycle of abuse.
With Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex To My Mum), James Barr isn’t just cracking jokes; he’s cracking open vital conversations. By confronting his own story with unflinching honesty and disarming humour, he’s helping others recognise abuse, reclaim their voices, and realise they’re not alone. As he brings this powerful and unapologetically personal show back to Edinburgh, it’s clear that James Barr’s comedy doesn’t just entertain—it empowers and inspires.
We’re incredibly grateful to James Barr for taking the time to speak with us. His candour, charisma, and commitment to telling the truth—no matter how painful—resonate deeply, and we wish him every success at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
James Barr is performing Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex To My Mum) at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival from 30th July – 24th August at the Dairy Room, Underbelly Cowgate. For tickets and more information, visit: underbellyedinburgh.co.uk