Kanye West live at The Marquee, Cork

Hubris n. def. overbearing pride or presumption; arrogance. And not a word that currently resides in Kanye West’s lexicon. The self proclaimed “closest thing hip-hop has to God” has, admittedly, enjoyed an almost infallible recording career. The clamour that greeted both his debut album The College Dropout and its successor Late Registration confirmed his stature as a hip-hop deity. But in Cork’s Marquee do we see evidence of his feet of clay poking out from underneath his bespoke hems?
Well, sort of. The logistics alone are against him. The Marquee is simply enormous, too big for hip-hop. The bowel-wobbling bass bleeds into everything else, notably the string section, which struggles to assert itself. Much of West’s patter is equally lost over the booming PA. And despite his messianic qualities, even he can’t part the sea of bleacher bound punters at the back from their seats, who resolutely sit firm throughout the gig.
It’s in stark contrast to the rabid delirium of the devotees up the front. On the bombastic entry point of ‘Diamonds From Sierra Leone’, the crowd, in the sweltering, pressure-cooker heat, go bananas, and maintain this febrile atmosphere for the night. West’s human dynamo momentum drags him from one side of the stage to the other, frantically waving, gesticulating, pirouetting, pointing skyward in acknowledgement, I guess, of his proximity to The Top Dog. The dreamy piano figures of ‘I Heard Them Say’ present the audience with an early sing-along opportunity, gleefully snapped up.
West’s frequent disappearing acts off stage – presumably to cure some lepers or beatify nuns – would normally interrupt the evening’s entertainment, but instead they give an opportunity for wax wunderkind A-Trak to display his estimable abilities on the decks. With his gray seersucker suit now doused in a fine film of sweat, West returns with the booty shaking ‘Get Em High’ and a speedy ‘Drive Slow’.
Naturally we are never too far from a breakout of West’s immodesty. On this occasion he offers some helpful reminders of tunes by celebrated contemporaries like Jay-Z, Mos-Def, and Dilated Peoples, which, lest we forget, he produced before his solo debut was released. Later on, during another bizarre interlude, he dances about manically to Michael Jackson and A-Ha, musicians he has deigned worthy enough to consider an influence on his career.
Mercifully, he soon regains some sense of perspective and delivers a blinding rendition of ‘All Falls Down’ to restart the show. The night’s undoubted highlight is ‘Gold Digger’ which, combined with an apoplectic crowd and an eye-popping lighting display, reaches an apogee that maybe only Kanye can attain.