Boys don't cry

Summer 2016 has been a hot one and for such occasions, a suitable soundtrack is required. So here's what been keeping our walls reverberating during July and August while we've been sipping on gin and juice ...

Watch the Throne

If you went to the pub with nay sayers of the 2012 live gig experience and got involved in a bicker, it's fairly likely they'd argue that this whole racket has become too bogged down in nostalgia.

And tis true. A shit load of elderly acts have been restringing their instruments and getting back out on the road in search of a little more dollar - in a supposedly struggling industry, this is where many see the money as being at.

Thankfully, this year's must see show, Watch the Throne, is not one based on (too much?) looking back - and in many ways, it's upped the ante for what constitutes a spectacle.

Featuring two behemoths of hip, Kanye West and Jay-Z, the pair have been playing cavernous arenas probably only just capable of containing the former's ever-burgeoning ego, never mind the huge hip hop sound they bring.

We clocked them on a Sunday at the notoriously vibe-less O2 arena but lo, they brought atmosphere, character and even fire in buckets. Both adorned in leather gear and carrying enough hits between them to do something serious, they swaggered through nearly two hours of tight hip hop music to a rapturous and skunk-fuelled crowd. The whole ting culminated in almost six rewinds of the album's highlight, N***** in Paris. Audacious in the extreme...

 

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