Three things are unavoidable during the opening weekend of Wireless: the odour of bubble gum-scented vapes, sweaty teenage boys with Pete Davidson-esque torso tattoos inhaling nitrous oxide out of balloons, and mosh pits appearing like freshly laid crop circles.
Given last December’s tragedy at US rap superstar Travis Scott’s now infamous Astroworld festival (where 10 concertgoers died in a crush), you’d be forgiven for assuming the crowd might be a little more subdued than usual. Yet the thousands in attendance at this rap-heavy festival seem determined to prop up rage music – a sound built around distorted bass, unapologetic chanting, and securing a nosebleed in the pit to prove you went the extra mile for your favourite Soundcloud rapper.
“Are y’all motherfuckers ready to rage!?” bellows topless US rap superstar Lil Uzi Vert to unanimous screams. As he repeats a delirious hook of “now I do what I want” over a syrupy yet glitched-out instrumental, the effects are intoxicating – it feels like the rallying cry for a hyperactive class that’s just been let out for the summer holidays.
Although the crowd is much smaller, Rico Nasty is just as good over on the Palace stage. Delivered with a manic Harley Quinn grin, her raspy, anarchistic vocals sit somewhere between golden-era DMX and Courtney Love; Let It Out proves a particular highlight, with Rico a conduit for the most LGBT-friendly crowd of the weekend to purge their demons.
This abundant punk rap energy makes the appearance of R&B star Chris Brown somewhat jarring. His set is filled with pop songs (Yeah 3x; Turn Up the Music) built around whirling EDM synths that conjure the taste of a regurgitated Jägerbomb in a 2012 student union. His history of violence towards women seems to be forgotten by the endlessly squealing female fans, with one to my left shouting “I’m loyal, Chris!” in response to anthemic lyrics about “these hoes” not being loyal. At one point, he even plays the victim, telling the attendees he’s thankful to be back performing in the UK after “so many years of being disconnected from my fans”. This is greeted with real warmth, perhaps proof that cancel culture is more a concept for millennials than Gen Z.
It’s a welcome relief, then, to hear Rihanna – the woman Brown famously assaulted – greeted with such feverish screams when she pops up on the big screen while walking to watch new beau A$AP Rocky’s headline set. However, these whoops are about as loud as it gets, with Rocky in desperate need of some new material (his last album, Testing, came out in 2018) to justify being a headliner. The screaming lasers of Skrillex collaboration Wild for the Night feel years out of date and people react more strongly to Skepta’s Praise the Lord hook than any of Rocky’s flat verses.
Not just the highlight of day two, but perhaps the whole weekend, is Playboi Carti’s devilish, rock-infused set. Backed by a blunt guitarist channelling Steve Albini, Carti lets out feral screams more reminiscent of Slipknot than the thugged-out baby-voiced coos he made his name with. “Ever since my brother died / I’ve been thinking about homicide!” he ferociously proclaims during highlight Stop Breathing, and the collective stomp ripples our drinks as if the T rex from Jurassic Park is approaching.
This is a chaotic trap song designed for Black Americans to let out their anger over being caught up in seemingly endless cycles of violence, but the white teenagers in the crowd treat Carti’s battle cries more like Smells Like Teen Spirit. Even though Carti’s success offends hip-hop purists more impressed by lyrical rap than his euphoric mumbles, there’s no denying the mysterious stage presence; the more humble, everyman qualities of headliner J Cole subsequently come across as a little too ordinary.
The best pure rap performance of the weekend is courtesy of London’s Little Simz. Revealing to the crowd she used to sneak into Wireless by climbing over the fences, she drops complex rhyme schemes without ever losing her breath control, and it’s refreshing to hear someone not reliant on a backing track or Auto-Tuned microphone. “Counted all my losses, manifested all my wins,” she proudly spits amid an energetic performance of Boss, delivered with the kind of venom that suggests it won’t be too long until she’s headlining here.
For day three, headline duties go to Tyler, the Creator, who rocks a lumberjack hat while sarcastically galloping up a stage that mirrors a grassy mountaintop. “Someone tell Theresa May, I’m baaaack!” he wryly howls, referencing his previous ban from performing in the UK, enacted due to violent and homophobic lyrics back from when the former PM was home secretary.
With deep, parched rap vocals that sound like a pissed-off Cookie Monster, Tyler’s proclamation on Lumberjack that other artists “ain’t really on the type of shit he on” is more than merited – he’s at the point in his career where even a head tilt inspires claps from the audience, who are all dressed in his Golf Wang fashion label. He’s having a ball, and a set that includes both Yonkers and Earfquake highlights his imaginative evolution from renegade to funk lothario.
With only two stages and an overwhelmingly corporate feel, the colourful personality of the previous weekend’s Glastonbury is very far from what’s on offer at Wireless, which could also do with improving its disabled access ahead of its second weekend. But the young people in the crowd don’t seem bothered by the bland aesthetic – they’ve got raging to do.
• Wireless festival continues at Finsbury Park, London, 8-10 July and NEC, Birmingham, 8-10 July.
