Review by Katherine McIntyre

Scottish Storytelling Centre

Sometimes, the smallest sections make the biggest noises. Tragic to see in some radical political sectors, encouraging in other respects. Spoken Word may be the smallest of the Festival Fringe’s offerings – but it’s by far the most accessible and welcoming. In a festival bursting with theatrical pyrotechnics and comedic chaos, Loud Poets continue to prove that spoken word is not only deserving of its Fringe spotlight—it’s one of the most inventive and emotionally resonant art forms on offer.

Now in their eleventh year, the team behind I Am Loud have honed their craft into a sleek, high-impact showcase that balances poetic precision with riotous joy. This 2025 edition is their most structured yet, but rest assured: the irreverence, wit, and heart that have made them a Fringe institution remain gloriously intact. And they’re still funny, to boot.

The core trio of Scotland’s open spoken word nights—Mark Gallie, Katie Ailes, and Kevin McLean—are joined by musical maestro Jack Hinks, whose live instrumental accompaniment elevates the show into a full-bodied sensory experience. Hinks’s compositions are tailored to each piece, shifting from ambient textures to snarling riffs with intuitive flair. His improvisations during Dean Tsang’s guest set add a visceral edge to already potent verses, particularly in Tsang’s searing poem Where Would You Put Me, which bristles with righteous anger and lyrical dexterity.

What sets this year’s Loud Poets apart is its structural clarity. The show unfolds like a poetic mixtape—each segment thematically linked, each transition purposeful. Gallie’s cheeky opening line, “You cannot trust poets,” sets the tone for a night of playful subversion and layered storytelling. Ailes’s comedic poem segues into a dual presentation with McLean, which in turn morphs into a full-blown tabletop RPG-inspired duo piece involving audience participation, a butter knife, and a plush hamster. It’s absurd, brilliant, and somehow still deeply poetic.

Despite the tighter framework, the show never feels rigid. The performers bounce between solo pieces, duets, and ensemble work with ease, their chemistry palpable and their timing razor-sharp. McLean’s poem for Aaron Bushnell is a standout—an unflinching meditation on protest, loss, and the machinery of war. His imagery lingers long after the final line, and the onstage projections of the Palestinian flag during this segment underscore the show’s activist heartbeat and its stance against the ongoing genocide.

Dean Tsang’s guest appearance adds further texture. His delivery is understated but magnetic, blending emotional insight with wry humour. Poetry structured around locating beauty in brevity, all underpin a constantly changing cycle, the team presents, with no two poems this evening feeling overtly recycled or colliding into one another. The rotating nature of Loud Poets—each night offers a different guest, ensuring fresh perspectives and dynamic energy.

Spoken word may be the smallest section of the Fringe programme, but Loud Poets make a compelling case for its centrality. The genre’s immediacy, its intimacy, and its adaptability are all on display here. This is poetry that laughs, protests, consoles, and celebrates. It’s poetry that invites you in, whether you’re a seasoned verse-lover or a sceptic roped into the madness. The lighting design is subtle but effective, framing each performer without distraction. Projections are used sparingly but smartly, adding visual punctuation to key moments (particularly with McLean’s ‘losing letters’ poem) The overall aesthetic is clean, allowing the words—and the performers—to take centre stage.

A masterclass in spoken word performance; Loud Poets continue to be trailblazers for the accessibility and refreshed image of the medium; it’s funny, fierce, and finely tuned. The structure may be tighter, but the pint-fisted soul remains expansive. If you’re looking for a Fringe experience that’s as thoughtful as it is entertaining, this is the show to see. And if you think poetry isn’t for you—well, these poets might just change your mind. But then again, if you can’t trust a poet, you sure as hell can’t trust a critic.

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