Crack

SonarFriday springs to life with an incredibly assured set from Agoria, who opens with fifteen minutes of warm ambience in the baking afternoon sun, before gradually and subtly bringing through layers of sophisticated and trancey techno which sees the crowd graduate from swaying woozily to going a bit mental without even realizing it.

Crack finds itself irresistibly drawn towards Sewing Machine Orchestra, a first European show for Canadian artist Martin Messier's intriguing concept. While the clicks and beats he wrestles from his series of Singers is certainly impressive, it’s more style than substance, the room turning into a carousel of the curious and the ‘seen enough.’

Speaking of style over substance, next up at the SonarComplex is witch house leading light oOoOO, whose dirgy death-disco sounds have got people tipping him among the scene’s most-likely-to. While the aesthetic is there, the dry ice and sparse stage set up making it feel as cold as the proverbial witch’s tit, there is very little originality on show. Vocalist Lisa, howling away wrapped up in luminous mesh, comes across like a nu-rave Kate Bush, while the spacious beats are not much more than an updated-and-not-as-good Cocteau Twins. The set does have its qualities, but its hard to take them on board when main man Chris Dexter Greenspan looks like he can’t be arsed to be there. In fact, he can’t even be arsed to take the sticker off his hat.

Right at the other end of the scale, meanwhile, Atmosphere is out on the main stage delivering sincere and no nonsense alt. hip-hop, bouncing about like an enthusiastic kid, telling everyone he loves them. The show ends with a rousing Trying to Find a Balance, his hirsute guitarist coming over all gruff and Southern.

And right back across that scale, with Brooklyn’s How to Dress Well. Tall and wiry, one man show Tom Krell cuts a vulnerable, Jeff Buckley-esque figure, outlined against some stunning and imaginative visuals. His ethereal and layered R’n’B is so delicately put together that it’s a crying shame when the sound guy fails to produce the correct onstage levels, meaning that halfway through the set HTDW’s soaring falsetto is replaced by shouts to correct them. Despite this he is clearly one to watch, and having caught up with him later on, a lovely fellow to boot.

Learning from the previous day’s mistakes, Crack ensures it gets a spot nice and early for Four Tet, wise considering the crowd which gathers at the main stage is probably the largest of the weekend. It takes real self-assurance to take to the stage for such a highly-anticipated set with no focus whatsoever on visual impact, simply a belief in one’s ability to control and move a crowd through pure musicianship. Kieran Hebden guides us through an intoxicating journey, rising and falling effortlessly, constantly rhythmic and cyclical, off-kilter yet all-encompassing. Utterly, utterly brilliant.

Moving back underground, word of Ghostpoet’s successful acoustic performance on Thursday must have spread, as a sizeable crowd has gathered despite the day session beginning to wind down. And the previous day’s insistence that the stripped down sound was not a true representation of his live approach is totally confirmed. Fronting a three-piece band, his performance is above all heavy. Almost verging on rock at points, they smash through versions of outstanding cuts from his debut such as Survive It with far more heft than on record.

Crack is then required to make the journey to the By Night section - not as easy as you might think, especially when in possession of a stellar blend of semi-inhebriated cockiness and general lack of a sense of direction or map-reading skills. After an aborted attempt to walk it (it would have taken about four hours at a rough guess) and one taxi which proudly dropped us right back at By Day, we saw the lasers and felt the sounds of Sonar By Night approaching in the distance.

Set in a vast - really vast - location outside the city's heart, Sonar By Night is broken up into 4 main areas: the hangar-esque main room SonarClub, two large outdoor stages, SonarLab and SonarPub and SonarCar, a fairground-inspired stage complete with dodgems. One of these stages and their line-ups would make for a great night, two would be really something. Four is fucking madness.

Our early explorations of the site find us standing before The Human League, where it’s all just a bit weird. The nostalgia factor doesn’t seem to have kicked in, and the main room crowd is pretty bloody sparse. However, during the short time we give them, kicking into Together in Electric Dreams prompts as close to a boozy, pub-kicking-out-time singalong as you’re likely to get at Sonar, only for Crack to turn around and see that their girlfriend has left them jumping about alone, mortified.

A further exploration allows us to witness parts of sets from Aussies Cut Copy and Danish hero Trentemoller. The former charm us with their thoughtful and catchy synth-pop, while the latter is something of a revelation, joined onstage by a full band and transformed into a formidable electro-rock outfit, the ambience of most of his records only hinted at in an energetic and powerful performance.

Perhaps it's a sense of patriotism that draws us to the front few rows for Dizzee Rascal, but more likely is the acceptance that even though his career hasn’t quite taken the trajectory many of us hoped for (quite an understatement), he’s just got something about him we can’t help loving. So even when he bounds onstage to one of the most dumbed-down of his hits, Holiday, complete with that bloke what was on the telly on that thing with Girls Aloud, we’re already putty in his hands. Predictably, the earlier and grimier the set gets the better, swathes of wild-eyed kids appearing from nowhere and turning the front rows into a mosh. Even when the DJ’s desk tumbles from its riser, Dizzee remains master of ceremony. “Get them camera phones out, get this on YouTube” he yells. 30 seconds later the problem is resolved and he positively smashes into Stand Up Tall. Predictably, it all ends in mayhem with Bonkers. Irresistible, good grimy fun.

To the main event. It seems like everyone’s got something to say about when they saw Aphex Twin. You frequently hear people say that it just wasn’t what they expected, and that’s a problem with a reputation of that sheer size preceding everything you do, especially hand-in-hand with such an air of enigma and fascination. It seems best to temper any expectations in these situations - if not lower them, at least adjust them.

There really wasn’t any need. Emerging a princely half hour late, it is initially the visuals that catch the eye, interplaying between spectacular lasers, clever manipulation of images and that signature sardonic sense of humour. As the set progresses, moving through phases of jungle, acid and techno, it truly starts to take hold. Soon, what’s really striking is how much this just sounds like the Aphex Twin. It has those glitches and blips and bizarre time signatures immediately associated with him, but being made up entirely of new material, it feels vital and exciting, like the first time you heard him. It’s danceable, bizarre and engrossing. The intensity grows and grows, both visually and musically, culminating in around ten minutes of sheer grinding, thudding power, almost unlistenable but impossible to draw yourself away from. The entire crowd is left physically and emotionally drained. Masterful.

A shaken, wild-eyed mess, the question is now whether Crack can face an hour’s wait only to be put through the ringer once again. Deciding to give it a shot, we take a breather before joining Boys Noize back in the main room. After five minutes of his pummeling electro assault, it’s fairly obvious that Aphex Twin has won the night. We can take no more, and retire back to get some rest, and to try and get these blips and bleeps to vacate our heads.



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Words: Geraint Davies

Photo: Oscar Garcia

http://www.sonar.es

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