It's easy to expect producer and performer Pharrell Williams to be all style and little substance. At points this year, his gigantic Vivienne Westwood hat seemed more newsworthy than his recent solo album, GIRL. But when Williams takes to the stage at Wireless, he's all about the music. He two-steps toward the crowd while his troupe of backing dancers bodyroll and twirl to opener Lose Yourself to Dance. Williams lands the all-important high notes in his signature falsetto, sweeping through cuts from GIRL and hits he has produced for or with other stars over the years. Renditions of Gwen Stefani's Hollaback Girl, Frontin', which featured Jay-Z, and NERD's She Wants to Move hark back to Williams' heights as a beat-maker, while 2013's Get Lucky and Blurred Lines invoke hearty singalongs from the crowd. With brief interludes on female equality in the workplace, he wraps up the show with a delightfully sunny and smiley rendition of – what else? – Happy.
Kanye West, on the other hand, delivers a moodier show. His headline set opens to screeches of electric guitar and the abrasive barking-dog sample he uses for live performances of Black Skinhead, from 2013's Yeezus. West appears while three LED screens light up around the stage, his face hidden behind a bejeweled Maison Martin Margiela mask. He pummels the crowd with a succession of up-tempo hit singles, from his word-perfect delivery on Mercy, Cold and the Chief Keef-sampling Don't Like. West swaggers confidently across the stage as the sun sets and the crowd shouts along to single Clique. He's in his element.
Then, he begins to rant. As any follower of West's recent career will know, his penchant for long, impassioned monologues seemingly knows no bounds. Tonight is no different, with West, in a second Margiela mask, segueing from the plinky-plonky piano line of Runaway to a 20-odd minute speech. He covers broad ground, lurching from musings on the state of celebrity and heartlessness of the media to his desire to "make something awesome". Grumbles quickly turn to boos and jeers from punters – after about 15 minutes, they've had more than enough. Their disdain hardly derails West, who continues to rail against fashion companies and shouts "fuck my face!" with a laugh.
Post-rant, West rewards the noticeably thinned crowd's patience with intense performances of Diamonds, All Falls Down and All of the Lights. He leaps into the air, growling through Jesus Walks, and has won the audience back by the time he tears into the Hudson Mohawke-produced Blood on the Leaves. It's a testing performance, but he powers through it with passion, drive and heart.
