Even before his faultless delivery, the stunning imagery conjured, or even the wit cutting through his poems, it was his sensitivity and self-deprecating charm that first struck about Luke Wright.
Presenting himself as a well-dressed lyrically blessed Essex lad, he provided the audience with insights into humanity as a whole from his observations as a house husband.
His content was very accessible, and the true mark of his genius came with his use of language. To sound intelligent some feel the need to use obscure language. Wright, like all good wordsmiths, avoided this trap and simply treated language with respect.
His whole act was meticulously thought through. Even the talk in between his poems, though seemingly idle chit-chat, dropped in provoking thoughts and important distinctions of his own personality that changed the perspective of his poems.
For example, the fact that he was often confused made The Panel instantly less dogmatic but beautifully illustrated how disillusioned and muddled the working class feel now.
He empathised with, rather than demonised, even the most seemingly abhorrent characters, providing some balance and humanity where initially one might not see any.
Wright is a rare mouthpiece of empathy and thought in a culture of snap judgements and knee-jerk reactions.
Five stars
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