THere are the many ways a Grace Jones-sponsored festival could have gone wrong. Jones’ Musical Ground was the club, and its disco-era melting pot. When she started making waves in the early ’80s, her music boasted a strict electronic undercurrent and little to no funk. It has covered a lot of artists for their collection.
Meltdown’s lineup, which has been on hold for two years, is as eclectic as Jones’ lineage would suggest. However, he is more interested in emerging talent than in high-profile work (Solange had to drop out). Leading voices from the African continent outnumber Jones’ own sources or his contemporaries. Because of observerPrint dates, and performers like Moonchild Sanelly, a visually bold, gender-positive rapper who is arguably the closest thing to channeling the essential spirit of Jones’ Imperial stage, escape our lens. So does the coordinator.
But happy pigeons in the first half of the week have a lot to recommend. The threads that bind Jones chemical cleaning Skinny but resonant: the edge of the drummer Nick Buxton’s drum machine and the unbridled percussion of Major Florence Shaw, who betrays nothing but disdain. It’s easy to imagine that this post-punk outfit in south London covering the cult new wave of The Normal hits warm faux leather with its all. chanting An anomie, as Jones once did.
Dry cleaning debut in 2021, new long legIt was basically everything cheerfulchange and Anomie, with Shaw’s cut-out-style lyrics created from periods of life so fleeting and floating that they seemed to be staring out of a speeding car window—its early track mainly lists Traditional Fish on storefronts—or scroll past memes their feed on social media. Somehow it all holds together, just like that breakdown, and that proves tonight in a seating place where inhibitions forbid dancing as the rhythm section was intended.
Lively, the band reigns supreme, with Shaw’s boredom performance often below the choppy or rumbling bass of guitarist Tom Dawes, who is as active on his feet as the rocky Shaw. But the oval phrases that escape the band’s excitement seem even more important.
“I just wanted to tell you that I have scales on my head,” yells Xu, staring at the crowd during Stark Emotion’s happiness as he relentlessly raises a few hairs, this intentionally dead band member is the closest to performing.
Some “da, da da” songs are hung for comfort in songs like “Wistful” More Big Birds, but the dry-cleaning style is surprisingly radical. Until the fall, the high priests of my eccentric poetry had lyrical melodies and lyrical choirs.
They announced a whole new album full of dry aperçus back in October stump work – “Check it out!” (It turns out to be an embroidery technique.) The good news is that the new song they’re playing – Don’t Squeeze Me – has one great line: “Don’t touch my gaming mouse, mouse.” Bad news? Shaw weakens the USP by singing a little.
After two nights there is dancing in the corridors. The night I played Dry Kling, it was all too easy for the 30-year-old financial star to win a Grammy Omo Sangar And her seven-piece squad will get their visas in time, a problem that seems to continue to haunt international acts that dare to entertain British audiences.
But Sangaré continues to dance unabashedly, bossy and warm at the same time. Despite the language barrier – she sings in Bambara – her music is all about communication. Her songs include pleas and takedowns; It is filled with wise advice or furious rage against the folly of war in songs like Kêlê Magni, a hilarious blackmail, ironically. Sangari’s gestures are eloquent and meaningful; She wiggles a finger or spreads her arms as if to say, “Come!”
List of songs on their latest album, Superb, Tough Timbuktu, one born unexpectedly in Baltimore, where Sangaree was stuck when Covid struck. But it is filled with pride in its native region, and Solo, tinged with nostalgia and emotional authority; More than ever, her work subtly explores the connections between West African music and American forms.
Tonight, that means the sound of Abu Dyars Ngoni’s chant is matched by Julian Bester’s sliding guitar. Sometimes the ratio skews too far towards the latter, but Alex Millet’s solo glowing keyboard hangs just above Degui N’Kelena.
Best of all is the Sangaré itself, which can strike a tune like a hammer out of nowhere, backed by lively backing singers on demand. Dily Oumou finds Sangaré to be the most vocal and torturous as she sings about resilience in the face of her enemies. It’s hard to imagine this woman having enemies, but as a feminist, entrepreneur, and activist, she’s definitely made some enemies.
Here, however, in drops and misty, and then in torrents, people flock from their seats to picture themselves dancing in front of it. Some fans give her a plate. Sangari offers hugs and three of her bangles before taking off too far from the stage, her dress oozing from all this exuberance.