Kanye Vest

A pair of tits.

It’s been a big week for checking out ‘legends'. Or tossers depending on yer perspective. T’other Sunday we managed to score tickets for Kanye West at the Wireless Festival on the Sunday eve in Hyde Park. It was a weird old day as the line up stank like an old man’s bridge in many parts. Alesha Dixon resembled a cutprice Beyonce straight out of Iceland’s two for one range. Diversity were the dancing troupe from Britain’s Got Talent. Yep. That's right. Buuuuuuuulllllllshiiiiiiiiiittttt.

And there were hundreds of kids squawking about the place. Little bastards. It wasn’t until Tribe Called Quest’s Q-Tip jived around the stage that there was anything worth giving your ears over to. By this stage the doobs, cider and sunshine were all taking hold, the children were melting away into the night and we got a right bounce on to the ‘Tip’. What a bad man, especially the three rewinds of Award Tour.

While Q-Tip was willing to get his fingers dirty, Kanye was an altogether more ego-tactical proposition. Equipped with a space-age set, leather gloves, trench coat, shades and a quartet of ladies with their tits out covered in gold, it lurched from the top smart to the extremely self-indulgent. The new material was reminscent of waving an aural wand in a massive cave. The sense of disappointment was removed by the intense high we got on during his set. Phew.



Kanye with his dancers



Baked and bored (waiting for Alesha Dixon to fuck off)



An incredibly strong look. The bottles were empty