Azealia Banks at The Academy | Review

Azealia Banks at The Academy on the 26th of June, 2013

Miss Banks hasn’t had an easy ride. Having grown up in the 212, she was promptly signed to XL, but dropped with even more prompt. She began stripping until she was snapped up again, having done what every struggling artist does these days–throwing that shit online. Now she spends her days rapping or starting online beef with the likes of Angel Haze and Perez Hilton. In fact, it’s hard to pick someone out who Banks hasn’t had an online quip with, including our very own Oxegen headliner, Amanda Brunker.

“EYE-RA-LAAANNN again tomorrow !!!!!! DUBLIN !!! WHAT’S GOOD?!?! #KUNTBRIGADE,” Azealia Banks tweeted before her show in The Academy. What’s good? Banks. And the Kuntbrigade is out in force as a result. While her reputation exists as merely saying ‘cunt’ a lot and prompting hyperbole Twitter beef with rival female rappers, Banks has something to stick up for. Excitement has wained somewhat since the huge hit 212 was unleashed on the world in all it’s abhorrent glory, but there’s still a good crowd out for her tonight—hoping she doesn’t flake again. She’s got some anger inside her, and we’re damned if she’s not about to take it out on us.

The set-up is very ‘New York shithole’, one that bands report they play in before they make it, in both success and basic human dignity standards. Lined with bendy backing dancers and two MCs—DJ Cosmo and Lil Internet)—psychedelic visuals suffocate the stage around them.

From the moment Banks arrives, it’s a constant chase, we can’t keep up. She launches into Out of Space, starting us off softly, yet those in the crowd trying to keep up are left wanting for breath. The piece of cloth she has stuck to her body vaguely resembles an outfit—cut in such a way that carefully exposes every area we usually strive to cover. But while Miss Banks loves her shock tactics, the edge doesn’t end there. There’s substance past that steep cliff, we’re kept afloat with a buoying, electro afrobeat that runs throughout.

Bouncing around the stage with the utmost abandon, Banks runs through a small set composed of highlights from her ‘1991’ EP, ‘Fantasea’ mix-tape and an odd preview of her upcoming album, ‘Broke With Expensive Tastes’. One of which, was No Problems, a rubbery mix of dubstep, raving bass, the ‘c’ word, the ‘n’ word—any word that the dissident crowd would be proud to shout.

Speeding through Atlantis, the storming march of Fuck up the Fun, and Van Vogue—Banks doesn’t miss a beat. Her professionalism and talent somewhat amusing against the contrasting vile lyrics flowing from her like oil into a nature reserve. The teen crowd happily swim in it, rapping along like they rehearse in front of the mirror between taking Snapchat selfies.

DJ Cosmo intervenes when needed with a gratifying scratch of the decks, keeping the crowd’s energy up in case the exhaustion would hit them prematurely. The overflowing attitude of Liquorice meets the ecstatic Jumanji’s playful rhythms—but there’s no messing around. Esta Noche‘s laid-back latin flavours go down a treat, but a bit like an alarm going off during your siesta.

Then comes the big one, 212. “I’ma ruin you cunt,” provides a disturbing singalong of graceless abandon. Rapturous chants of ‘Guess that cunt gettin’ eaten,’ are hammered out of the ecstatic crowd with cultish determination. The energy is alarmingly high, the kind of hysterical buzz your parents would assume you would induce with a lick of a sherbet stick, aged 3.

An encore comes in the form of Yung Rapunxel, the gutting debut single from Banks’ upcoming album. Armed with a megaphone, Banks vibrates around the stage hyping the crowd into a right old tizzy. It’s not one of her stronger tracks, but a suited come-down to a rageful night.

And with that, goodbye—try sleeping after that, g’luck. The set was short, but realistic, considering we haven’t heard a full LP yet. Her live show is something special, with the size of the room certainly helping to contain her furious energy. Now, if she would just spent less time baiting people on Twitter and began writing more rhymes about them, we could faintly hear her over the din of that yappy Myspace generation.