Wild West roadshow leaves Irish cheering

THERE ain't no show like a duff hip-hop show. It may produce more than its fair share of hits, stars, controversy and excitement, but hip-hop has also been responsible for a hugely disproportionate amount of live lame ducks over the years.

It's when hip-hop acts reach Europe that the show really turns into a nonshow. You can almost imagine a list of instructions being passed from one rapper to the next at New York's JFK airport about what to do when it comes to boring audiences. The mind-numbing cliches, the verbally incontinent hypemen, the sheer number of white towels getting waved in the air: hip-hop becomes the most predictable ball game of all when it goes onstage.

Some rappers use the opportunity of standing in front of a captive audience to flog as much tat as they can get away with. 50 Cent's live show is now a travelling TV shopping channel, with Fiddy hawking his range of sneakers, autobiography, film, bottled vitamin water, T-shirts, baggy jeans and deluxe range of personalised bulletproof vests. 50 gets his 40 acres and a mule every night when fans throng to the merchandise stalls in the foyer.

It will be interesting to see how the Smithsonian deals with live hip-hop. The Institute's National Museum of American History is about to launch an ongoing exhibit on hip-hop music and culture. "Hip-Hop Won't Stop" will document hip-hop's growth from block parties in the 1970s to current global domination, using records, lyrics, clothes and assorted other bits and bobs found lying around.

Should the Smithsonian folk wish to show what live hip-hop can really be about, they might consider sending some cameras round when Kanye West is next in town. West may be the nearest thing hip-hop has to Jose Mourinho in terms of arrogant self-belief and unbridled cockiness but, unlike Chelsea, West actually has something to crow about.

His sold-out shows at Dublin's Point last weekend were thrillers because West is a producer turned MC who really does have the skills to pay the bills. His College Dropout album was a classic five-star debut, and follow-up Late Registration was even better.

Working on that latter album with soundtrack maestro Jon Brion, West mined a pop vein with a confidence few other hip-hop cats can muster. In the space of two years, West has left his peers and one-time rivals far behind.

Pharell Williams, come in, your time is up.

Live, West's ambition shines bright. Sure, he utilises his share of cliches; the history lesson regarding his apprenticeship with Jay-Z and work with Dilated Peoples was clumsy, while the undoubtedly heartfelt dedication to the late, great producer Jay Dilla was lost on about 98 per cent of the audience. But there's a widescreen imagination to make up for these lapses.

For instance, it's impossible to imagine any other rapper employing a dozen string players onstage to add orchestral bump and grind to the sound. Other MCs may take this approach to produce a striking video or one-off TV appearance, yet West knows the strung-out approach adds considerable oomph to the show. It also does away with the need to take a full backing band on the road, especially as there's a different set of string players to read and play the sheet music in every town. It means West can rely on his DJ, the excellent A-Trak, and a brace of backing singers to fill in the blanks.

If West chooses his stage companions well, he's even more pernickety when it comes to the material. West has always talked a very good game about himself and his abilities, but he does produce the goods every time.

Between albums, he has bettered his flow and further perfected the melodic bent of his grooves. Tracks from Late Registration, such as Heard 'Em Say and Touch the Sky, are turbo- charged, radio-friendly bangers which leave everyone wowed. Best of all, you know that West can only get bigger, better, bolder and brasher as time and albums go by. This is one hip-hop show no one should miss.