Live Review: Kanye West, Pusha-T

There are a lot of gangsta handshakes going on as crews greet one another in Rod Laver Arena’s foyer and surrounds.

Apparently wearing matching coloured shorts over pants is all the rage if Pusha T and co are fashion trendsetters. The DJ pumps up rumbling bass that turns seats into vibrators and Pusha T constantly insists My Name Is My Name (still plugging his 2013 debut solo album?). There’s an explosion sound effect to mark each song’s conclusion and sometimes an air horn as well. Future’s Move That Dope (ft Pusha T, Pharrell and Casino) is a highlight, but we all just want Yeezus.

And we must wait, while Kanye West’s mirrored catwalk is meticulously mopped. Finally, the house lights dim and a guitarist busts out a doomsday riff on the main stage area. This crafty distraction allows Kanye to rise through a trap door at the end of his shiny cock (sorry, catwalk) wearing some kind of bedazzled, Hannibal Lecter-inspired mask (designed by Maison Martin Margiela, no less) that completely obscures his face and also has chains dangling from the front. The entire arena is bathed in red light as Black Skinhead’s menacing, feral dog barking intro terrifies. We are 100 per cent invested within seconds. Colour chases on the giant LED screen flash so rapidly that it’s impossible to discern individual hues and we feel like there’s a chance our margaritas have been spiked.

It’s awesome to see fans trying to record the action – the lighting design is either too dark or too iridescent for their dumbphones to capture. Live footage translates on the screen in negative – what’s white appears black, what’s black appears white. And at times West appears to be directing the cameramen.

Cold, complete with Foreigner’s Cold As Ice intro, temporarily adds some light to the set’s heavy grimey beginnings. Graduation material is reprazented and many leap to their feet, hollering, “Wait ‘til I git my money right,” throughout Can’t Tell Me Nothing. At this point Kanye temporarily removes his mask, just in time for New Slaves: “I’d rather be a dick than a swallower.” As soon as Stronger’s Daft Punk sample penetrates the arena, it’s maximum booty shaking. 

There’s a lull between acts where there’s temporarily no action, just bass ringing through the darkness to tease out suspense. When Kanye materialises once more at the head of his penis/catwalk, he’s partially obscured by smoke although illuminated under a single beam, wears a new mask (glomesh?) and strikes that recognisable single piano note on a sampler. Cue: Runaway. Kanye riffs a variety of phrases such as, “Don’t fuck with me,” and “Is it alright to be me tonight?” – the latter utilising Vocoder. And, conveniently, Pusha T is on hand for his feat. “Since when did rap become so politically correct?” Kanye muses. He then launches into a rant directed toward a certain somebody who sure ain’t in his good books. There’s mention of a retweet and then Kanye drives the point home: “So I’m gonna tell you tonight – ‘cause we got two shows – so we better get on the phone tomorrow morning.” Pretty apparent this outed individual’s place within Kanye’s Clique is under threat.

Shirley Bassey’s majestic vocals cut through the tension and dazzle during Diamonds From Sierra Leone. Following our leader, we throw the appropriately shaped hand signals in the air. Touch The Sky maintains this celebratory vibe. And then, praise Yeezus, we score Gold Digger! “Git down, girl, go ‘head, git down” – we loosen an extra notch. And main set closer Bound 2 is beyond satisfying: “Uh-HUH, honey!”

An encore doesn’t feel like a given when this show has already offered so much. But it appears ‘Ye wants to conjure some circle pit action. So we experience multiple Niggas In Paris performances while he demands, “Make the circle bigger! Make the circle bigger!”

As a rapper, Kanye is a warrior. It’s just one man up there all night, with a DJ in the shadows. Yeezus don’t need bells, whistles and scantily clad dancers.