LEAF: GIORGIO MORODER / OMAR SOULEYMAN + SOPHIE
Oval Space, London, November 8th | The Laundry, November 10th
If you didn’t immediately cotton onto the London Electronic Arts Festival in its inaugural year, you’d be sorta forgiven. The breadth of programming assembled by Rob da Bank was extremely impressive for a first run – club shows with Trentmøller, Chris Liebing and Éclair Fifi’s merry band of grizzled Detroit vets; a daytime performance from the BBC Radiophonic Workshop followed by King Kong re-scored live; all manner of keynotes and workshops from William Orbit, Dinos Chapman and the non-dickhead members of New Order – but there seemed to be a lack of unified awareness of an overarching concept as opposed to a string of relatively rare events. Perhaps the jewel in their crown was the first ever London DJ set by disco pioneer, alpha producer and overall 24ct diamond geezer Giorgio Moroder.
It’s a week on, and we’re still a little unsure. The atmosphere, for one, was unrivalled for its total lack of synchrony – Oval Space has proven one of the capital’s best new venues, but was ill-fitting on the night. It was akin to a tacky school disco revival, where leavers from every decade from the 70s onwards were plonked in an empty cafeteria with a common denominator used to corral them into not questioning their surroundings. All a touch bizarre.
And Giorgio himself? Honestly, kind of terrible. But it’s hard to hate on the guy because, ultimately, people were having a great time on a Friday night (although, not together as such). Still, kicks dropped on the off-beat, filters were egregiously slathered across the mix and we were able to sing Toca’s Miracle over the music on at least four occasions; at one point it genuinely sounded as if he was going to lowpass straight into Darude. But people kept screaming all night long as banger after banger – Take My Breath Away! What A Feelin‘! every Donna Summer hit ever! – clattered into one another, often curiously while both his hands were waving in the air. It was silly season, but the crowd largely lapped it up; buoyed by, and in turn buoying, Giorgio’s boundless enthusiasm and desire to please in spite of entry-level technical skills. The ending run formed a neat microcosm: after a scant 90 seconds of I Feel Love curled into a barely-audible monologue to precede his Daft Punk collab, he quickly changed tack and popped on a rapturously received version of Blondie’s Call Me, leading people through a stuttering acapella by cutting the volume arrhythmically, before ending on an EDM edit of the new Lady Gaga single with the bass cut off. Perplexing, sure, but an enjoyable experience nonetheless.
The show two days later was an interesting contrast: a man whose hits are embedded skull-deep into the public conscience relying on the collective goodwill to carry him through, against another playing music from a different world, singing in a different tongue, who has long since shed any novelty factor. Omar Souleyman’s progression in the four times we’ve caught him has been striking: this sold-out gig on a bitterly cold Sunday night was a far cry from his set under a blazing sun at Glasto ‘11, something of a Middle Eastern curio invoking a lot of twatted bros walking like an Egyptian in the crowd. No matter the circumstance, he remains a consummate entertainer, performing with verve and adopting an endearing approach, both humble and swaggering.
Enigmatic oddball Sophie was superb in support, riding rough 303s and pinging elastic basslines around at will, but struggled slightly to rouse a static crowd with his chopped early-00s RnB vocals and strung-up grime forcefulness; their loss, given that Bipp and Nothing More To Say are jostling neck-and-neck for dance track of the year.
Souleyman fared better, setting the tone for the hi-NRG dabke onslaught by kicking off with a riotous Leh Jani. What would have seemed a traditionally unusual step given its reputation as his most celebrated track made a lot more sense after the remaining 40-odd minutes were devoted to showcasing his new record Wenu Wenu, almost in its entirety. He played it straight, faithfully reproducing material from one of the albums of the year, delivering a typically excellent performance that had, by the end, descended into gleeful chaos. Not unlike Friday night, come to think of it; maybe LEAF displayed a strain of continuity after all.
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Words: Gabriel Szatan
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