Clad in a stripy Technicolor dream jacket redolent of Joseph, Michael Kiwanuka shuffles on stage, buffeted by the celestial oohings of his backing singers. “To begin again,” he breathes on Piano Joint (This Kind of Love), “maybe win again.”
The colourful stripes are the loudest thing about Kiwanuka or, indeed, much of this gig; the prospect of his victory sounds tentative rather than certain. This is a long-awaited show by one of Britain’s least showy stars, a soul man of international renown, whose downplaying of everything has been his strongest suit, beginning again.
