Sunday, 12 July 2009

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


Competitions are usually all about winning and losing. But in Shithead there are no winners. There is the shithead and those lucky (or skilled) enough not to be.

After necking a few lovely pints at the boozer, we purchased a big bottle of gin (‘just in case’) and got the cards out. Good job the booze was bought as we needed it when it reached 4am, the thirst was still on and the scent of losing was thick in the air.

Quiet contemplation

Victory never tasted so sweet

Sultry way with the cards

The smell of Shit(head) is in the area


Check oot a few of my boring thoughts on Bottin’s Horror Music album here.

William Bottin is a synth freak with a passion for Vincent Price and vampire films. It’s peculiar, danceable and very italo. Oh yes.