Live Review: Kanye West, Pusha T

 

Pusha T didn’t get the memo though. The 37-year-old – one half of Clipse and part of the GOOD Music family – is keeping it tight in all-white threads that show off a muscly exterior. It’s an outfit that offsets his clad-in-black hype guy, but the pair are an unstoppable unit when working the mics together. Pusha stomps about the stage like a focused man on notice, spitting lyrics into the microphone while vigorously waving his hands in time with the beat. King Push opens the account, with Blocka, Millions and an Ab Liva assisted Suicide hammering down on us soon after. The bassline packs dangerous amounts of weight, but the volume is no match for the screams heard when he drops So Appalled, the Kanye tune he dominated on 2010’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

 

Yeezy's silver runway (Runaway?) has been carpeted, so as not to get any sweat on it – maybe? Either way, Push doesn't mind, working the crowd into a frenzy early and all but proving why he's so revered amongst his peers and rap fans alike. By the time he's going full Ric Flair on Sweet Serenade and flowing within that slithering, tribal Numbers On The Board beat, we know exactly why his name is his name.

 

Soon after Pusha T departs – about the same time roadies begin to roll the protective catwalk carpet back – dramatic orchestral music fills the BEC space. Half-an-hour out from fronting and Kanye West is already setting the tone. A single floodlight hangs ominously from the rafters over the peak of the runway, but before such iridescence can impact, it's all taken away. Through the darkness comes smoke; within it, the stage gives birth to one Kanye Omari. The Imperial March from Star Wars plays proudly and the entire scene is beyond huge. Then legendary producer Mike Dean – the sole musician holding down so many critical tasks – rips into the opening riff of Black Skinhead, and as a giant angled, vertical screen comes to life, rows of red bulbs turning on one by one, Kanye comes rampaging down the catwalk, looking like he's going to launch completely off the stage before planting his feet, spreading his arms wide and proclaiming, “this shit ‘bout to go (down)”. The pit is painted in a blood shine and looks primed for aggression, with hands waving to the music and small pockets of moshers bumping skin. 

 

He moves through Mercy, Cold (with a cheeky Foreigner intro), Can’t Tell Me Nothing, and immediately it's clear – this is a different Kanye than the one who was here in 2012. This Kanye isn't a perfectionist; he's a renegade. This Kanye doesn't look in control, but that's part of the appeal. The bejewelled mask is removed by the time he’s spitting venom during New Slaves – hilarious Kanye penis-related lyric #1: “I'd rather be a dick than a swallower”; oh how we scream it back at him. Stronger sees the Chicago son centred in the middle of a red beam cage that goes stage to ceiling; post-Stronger and he’s ranting for the first time in the evening, being as humble as ever – “I am this generation's Rolling Stones, I am this generation's U2.” West tells us he’s “too scared to lie”, but we already knew that. The “married Christian man with a family” then goes on a tirade against hack journalists, Matt Lauer and mass media in general for manipulating societal opinions. He says, “I eat that shit”, but you don’t need to know the context – that’s what we do, right? #fuckthemedia

 

It’s about here that the set starts a prolonged zenith. Kanye returns to the cellar before rising from the stage for a second time. More smoke. He’s donning a no-doubt expensive-as-hell outfit that looks like it’s made from dirty rags, complete with full diamond mask, and there’s a MPC on hand for him to fiddle with like a kid bashing a Fisher-Price toy. Runaway starts, then stops – hilarious Kanye penis-related lyric #2: “She finds pictures in my email/I sent this bitch a picture of my dick." He questions us if this is our favourite Kanye song, and he’s deadly serious. Then West starts it all up again, and with Mike D’s help, plus a Pusha T cameo, it all comes together beautifully. Again, he shows his flexibility and ability to do whatever the fuck he wants.

 

The homeless suit gives way to a matching camo pants and singlet combo – it allows plenty of movement so Kanye can bounce about the stage, reeling off a ridiculous string of hits including Diamonds From Sierra Leone, Jesus Walks – complete with a cappella redux – All Falls Down, Touch The Sky, All Of The Lights, Good Life and Gold Digger. By now every person in the place is on their feet, getting down like crazy. This reviewer couldn't see anyone in a wheelchair, but he's sure they would have been popping wheelies too. Then as KK watches from her lounge island back behind the sound desk, West performs his open-road ode to his baby momma, Bound 2, complete with cousin, ‘The World Famous’ Tony Williams, on harmonies, and those “Uh-huh, honey”s. It’s hard to wipe the smile off your face after yelling, “Got a fresh cut, straight out the salon, bitch”.

 

A drawn-out encore follows, bringing the two-hour session of maximum Yeezus to a close. Blood On The Leaves gets a run around the block; so does Watch The Throne centrepiece Niggas In Paris. Circle pits start up, but they’re soon filled in as people surge closer to their god. By this stage West’s throngs of devotees are enraptured – we’ve watched something truly monumental tonight. Kanye is glorious, ridiculous, pompous and neurotic all at once. He is as divisive an artist as we've got right now, and it's why we need him more than ever.