As is traditional with hip-hop gigs, it all starts as a bit of a fiasco. An hour after he is due onstage, Kanye West is still nowhere to be seen, and the crowd's patience is starting to run out. Then, all of a sudden, there's a flurry of activity, and a selection of unnamed, mediocre singers and rappers – part, we suspect, of Damon Dash's scheme to open a British wing of Roc-A-Fella – slope on to do guest spots.
These don't go down too well: the mawkish piano balladeer who's closer to Celine Dion than Alicia Keys is greeted with, first, a fusillade of bottles, and second a massed chant of "Refund! Refund!" West may have made his name as the provider of bespoke beats to hip-hop gentry, chiefly Jay-Z. Since the release of his magnificent "College Dropout" album, however, he's become better known as an articulate rapper, and one who straddles the divide between the sensitivity, political consciousness and relative humility of the underground, "backpacker" hip-hop scene and the diamond-encrusted self-aggrandising of the mainstream.
When he finally turns up, it's this second impulse that dominates West's show. He begins with the Doors sample which he deployed on Jay-Z's awesome "Takeover", then proceeds to try and play at least part of every track on "The College Dropout", plus snippets from most of his hits for other people, in about 30 minutes.
It's a daft idea, throwing these amazing songs away in a matter of seconds. But while West sometimes appears to be in a panicky rush – charging through tune after tune as if stopping might remind him he's nervous – it also makes for a pretty exciting gig. West doesn't have the frightening charisma of his most obvious contemporary, Pharrell Williams, and his rapping is sometimes fitful; "Slow Jamz", for instance, is hastily dispatched with most of West's raps on the backing track.
He does, though, have a certain manic energy, a breathtaking catalogue of songs, and an entertainingly odd live set-up that also features Damon Dash as dancer and cheerleader, a fine pianist and singer, John Legend, and a violinist, Miri Ben-Ari. Ben-Ari takes charge for a fantastic version of "The New Workout Plan" and a snatch of Twista's "Overnight Celebrity". When West disappears for a breather, the show takes a stranger turn, as Ben-Ari tries a medley of classical and hip-hop snippets reminiscent of those grim old "Hooked On Classics" compilations.
John Legend comes to the fore in a mad and compelling encore which, at 40 minutes, is substantially longer than the main set. After scorching versions of "Jesus Walks", "Spaceship" (with co-rapper GLC), "School Spirit" and "Never Let Me Down", West and Legend morph into a bizarre cocktail bar hip-hop cabaret. There are ragged medleys of Lauryn Hill and Fugees songs, and a sloppy take on West's latest production classic, Brandy's "Talk About Our Love".
Gradually, West seems to find his confidence, so his rapping becomes more fluent and the tracks stretch out to something closer to their original length. A great take on "Family Business" is followed by a song purportedly off his next album (titled "Late Registration") which features the refrain, "Hey mama, I promise you I'm going back to school," and manages to be both brilliant and excruciatingly sentimental at once.
By the end, and "Last Call", he has most of his entourage strung across the stage with their arms round each others' shoulders, swaying unsteadily in a display of unity that resembles a soppy family wedding rather than the muscular fraternal bonding usually associated with the Roc-A-Fella syndicate. Kanye West may be rather genteel compared with some of his labelmates. But with Jay-Z retired or, more likely, looking for a home away from Roc-A-Fella, West has emerged as the happily tarnished jewel in their crown.
