Dear Kanye,
I’m not really sure where to start… I’ve never been particularly keen on you as a human being as you appear to be somewhat of an egomaniac, but I can appreciate your talent as an artist. I rather like a number of your early ditties and am even quite partial to N-Words in Paris (I’m sure you could have come up with a nicer adjective if you’d given yourself a few more minutes but nonetheless, it’s very catchy).
Your reputation preceded you of course, but I was hoping you might prove myself and countless others wrong – including the 134,000 who petitioned to have you axed from the line-up. You really could have created something magical out there for the haters – this was your big moment! I for one was expecting a full band, a gospel choir, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Cirque du Soleil and enough fireworks to blow the whole farm off the map. But for some strange reason, you decided to waste your entire budget on light bulbs and dry ice.
At one point it looked like the lead singer of East 17 had nipped down for a duet – but he turned out to be a stage-crasher, apparently avenging Taylor Swift. An inexplicable massacre of Bohemian Rhapsody pretty much wrapped things up (Freddie would have been rolling in his grave). And when the most visually compelling element of your show is a crane, we have a problem.
Watching on iPlayer, I was thankful for the opportunity to fast forward through much of your endless set (a blessing not afforded to the 60,000 souls stuck in that field). The sad thing is, it wasn’t because of the music – it was because I was bored to death and trying to find the bit where something happens. I’m assuming you were going for some kind of minimalist, ‘me versus the music’ thing, but the problem is, you’re just not that exciting to look at for any real length of time. This was Glastonbury – we wanted to see a show! What you gave us was a gig set for the diehard fans, not a festival set for the global stage – and there is a big difference. You, my friend, were playing to the wrong crowd.
Now I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job – I’m far from qualified and I’m sure you wouldn’t listen to me anyway. But as a music fan, it just seemed like the vision you had in your mind didn’t really translate on such a big stage. Despite what you might believe, I believe you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself the greatest living rock star on the planet. You are not a rock star. That was not a rock-star show. That wasn’t even a show. That was an ant, lost in the mist, for an hour and forty-five minutes.
I hope you take some of my insights on board, Mr. West. I’m sure you’ll analyse the footage and come back bigger and better, ready for your next crack at a headline slot. But if you do insist on keeping the cherry picker, then you really need to learn to relax – you looked like you were clinging on for dear life, and there’s nothing badass about vertigo. Cute two-piece, though. : )
Yours sincerely,
The Tellergram x
thetellergram.com 