On the first of two nights at Wembley Stadium, Eminem was a disgrace. Not that I am suggesting he did anything particularly outrageous or controversial, which, in any case, is his stock in trade. From where I was seated halfway down on the second tier, he looked like he was working hard, hyperactively pacing the stage, arms jerking, wrists twitching, pouring an enormous amount of aggressive energy into his radio microphone. It’s just that I could barely make out a single word, his vocal emerging as a long bleaugh of tone consumed into a flatulent mush of snap back delay, of which the most distinguishable features were a low end rumble of bass and drums echoing off the stadium walls until it sounded like four kits playing in different time signatures. It was the worst sound I have ever heard at a major live event.