TEN years ago, Azealia Banks last performed in Glasgow.
With smash hits like 212 under her belt, as well as collaborations with superstars like Pharrell, the rapper and singer still had a pretty bright career ahead of her.
In 2024, it's a different situation. Thanks to her mega-public fall-outs with just about any celebrity you can think of, controversies over xenophobic, racist and homophobic comments, and her recent endorsement of Donald Trump, Banks is probably one of the most toxic figures working in music today.
But no matter what you think of Banks and her questionable views, we can surely all agree that she has some absolute bangers. So many of these tracks are brilliant dance-y, house-y hip-hop that you can't resist moving to.
Unfortunately, there was minimal moving in the 02 Academy on Wednesday night as the crowd waited for hours for Banks to bother to show up. It is fitting that I would be disappointed again in Glasgow on the night of September 18, on the 10-year anniversary of the independence referendum.
Doors opened at 7pm, with a nameless DJ taking to the stage to keep the audience interested. No such luck. Unidentifiable instrumental dance tracks failed to build the atmosphere. As the clock ticked by and we realised that Banks would not be taking to the stage at 9pm, it might have been idea to play some sing-along hits for the increasingly impatient attendees. We were treated to more of the same, as gig-goers held up phone screens reading "hurry up" and "boring".
After half past nine, people were getting audibly angry. "I've got work tomorrow, who does she think she is?" a man behind me asked. "She's always late," a young (very drunk) fan tells me. "It's pretty iconic."
If your fanbase is full of people who incomprehensibly think it's a point of pride to make absolutely no effort for the people who fund what's left of your career, then fair enough, I suppose.
Banks finally took to the stage at about 10.06pm. She sauntered out in a mini skirt, crop top and beret, dressed more for a particularly fancy brunch than for a headline gig, as the crowd went absolutely crazy. Her supporters couldn't get enough of her disrespect for them. Teenage fans screamed wildly as a sea of phones shot up into the air to capture one of Azealia's elusive appearances.
Is all of this an ironic, Very Online thing? The young people in this crowd presumably detest right-wing politics but are jumping up and down screaming for a woman who has used every slur under the sun. Trying to piece it all together is a challenge.
When Banks finally started performing, a word used here in its loosest definition, it's apparent that there's been no soundcheck. She was barely audible as she rapped along to the catchy Luxury, but the rabid fans didn't seem to care.
The gig somehow moved along slowly through its 40-minute run. What a treat for £40 a ticket, working out at £1 a minute for Banks to stand in different parts of the stage and not even try to look like she cares about what's happening in front of her. Look, she's on the left. Now she's on the right. This time she moved her shoulders. Riveting.
It's rare to be at a gig and think you'd rather be at home watching the music videos, but that was the overall impact of this shoddily put-together cash-grab of a concert. Of course, the crowd ate up every minute – especially as the artist went into her biggest hit, 212, at the end of the show.
The audience was overjoyed, and it makes perfect sense. It's a great song – and very nostalgic. I'm reminded of the time I saw Banks in the 02 ABC, all the way back in 2012 when this track was huge. She performed with passion for the music, with well-choreographed dancers providing extra energy. Comparing that to this is night and day.
It's lucky that Banks has found her solid nihilistic, TikTok-addicted fanbase. They'll keep coming to shows like this, if only to be in the presence of the woman who once found herself stuck in Elon Musk's house posting savage updates to Instagram Live (naming the X owner "Apartheid Clyde" in the process). The woman who found herself in a beef with Lana Del Rey, of all people. The woman who practiced witchcraft in a cupboard in her New York apartment. The lore around Banks is more of a draw than anything. But that doesn't forgive such a lazy show.
