Reginald D Hunter’s Sometimes Even The Devil Tells The Truth is his most raw, controversial, passionate and uproarious in years (even without the n-word in the title).

Hunter’s touring partner, heavy-metal enthusiast Steve Hughes, confidently comforted the audience with “you’re in good hands” as this double bill began. A wild conspiracy theorist, his laconic and brutally honest comedy is highly intelligent. Splenetic aphorisms and diatribes on global politics and social rights were thought-provoking and witty: the War On Terror became a “war on a noun” and the audience was rebuked for reality television’s existence. Routines about health and safety (complete with light bulb training), comparing recent riots with British imperialism and Enya, or “silence coloured in” superbly entertained.

Hunter, not being “cuddly” like on his television panel shows, explored the evil lies and evil truths in society with erudite routines that balanced profundity, mischievousness and hilarity. With his Georgian drawl – he could make the phonebook sound interesting – he displayed insurmountable authority and charisma. Every sentence resonated with acerbic wit and striking ebullience.

It was a tightly constructed hour of political convictions, candidly discussing his abusive childhood and exhibiting expert heckler control. He even worried that the n-word would offend middle-class white people.

His skills were strongest when breaking down lazy misconceptions of the divide between the sexes. Brilliantly measured and outspoken with guffaws and gasps.

Hunter and Hughes – from goths riding a dodgem to exploring the nature of love to debunking global warming – offered something new, controversial and immensely enjoyable.