SISTER SLEDGE
Jazz Cafe, Camden | September 20th
When we were younger, a friend of ours was blighted by a bizarre fear of going to cinema with anyone else but himself. He loved movies, but his experience would always be ruined by the thought that the person alongside him was not enjoying it as much. Sure, he was a sensitive soul but, for a film buff, this was a seriously debilitating neurosis.
Anyway, against all better reasoning, this was the prevalent feeling as Crack trundled on the overground towards Camden Road alongside a mate who’d been roped in last minute to see Sister Sledge. We hadn’t really considered whether the group was still touring, let alone if they were any good, when an e-mail announcing their one-off show appeared the week before. As a fan of their classic recordings from the 70s, we had no idea what end of the scale of disco greatness they now occupied – Chic at Glasto on a Friday night, or a gaggle of boozy aunts at a wedding dancing to We Are Family?
The rare live show at the Jazz Cafe turned out to be a gig of joyous proportions. It came at a perfect time for the group, riding the wave of Nile Rodgers’ return, Dimitri from Paris’s numerous re-edits of their material, and an ongoing disco-house revival. Fronted now by just two sisters, Debbie and Joni, the rest of the band is formed from some seriously talented musicians who did full justice to the Sister Sledge back catalogue, replicating their original sound impeccably before taking the tunes off on long, open-ended journeys and seamlessly mixing them with other masterpieces from the era.
The first half of the set included Thinking Of You – given a slightly rockier beat by their perpetually grinning drummer in his electric-blue pharaoh headgear – followed by Greatest Dancer. Throughout, the voices of glitter-clad Debbie and Joni were strong, certainly more so than their synchronised dance moves. But when you go and see a group formed in 1971 Philly, you have to expect a fair share of hand-claps, twirls and sultry kisses blown at the audience.
The highlight of the show was without doubt Lost in Music, the closest any disco anthem comes to providing a spiritual experience. It sounded phenomenal. During one breakdown, each band member indulged in a flamboyant showcase of solos, from keyboard to bass, guitar and drums. But things got fucking cosmic when their extremely adept saxophonist/musical director, Dominic Amato, whipped out his ‘talk box’. This was plugged into a black instrument shaped like a soprano sax which he talked into via a microphone headpiece, transforming the voice of a mere mortal into Daft Punk on acid. Its bluesy space-funk sound was undoubtedly cheesy but, in the context of one of Nile Rodger’s finest productions, it was a jaw-gaping moment.
Things, however, went seriously off the boil with Frankie, the girls’ jaunty synth dirge from 1985. And while their cover of My Funny Valentine showed off Joni‘s voice well, its clunky hotel jazz vibe was pretty tiresome. But these low moments were saved by two exuberant encores of We Are Family (what else?) and Good Times – with Sugarhill Gang’s Rapper’s Delight (which sampled the original tune’s bass line) making an excellent cameo appearance halfway through.
Debbie and Joni Sledge, with a combined age of 116 years, are hardly doing anything new. But they were there at the birth of the genre and now lay claim to a legacy of some true classics. A night in their presence reminds you of this. Are they still relevant? Not really, though a group whose rose-tinted sense of abandon first found fans in the blighted urban centres of 1970s east coast America can’t totally be at odds with a Western world in 2013 pulling itself out of economic depression. Above all, their lack of self-important swagger, bordering almost on teen naivety, is incredibly refreshing. The night’s closing tune of Good Times is a song that sums up their musical and philosophical manifesto: “Must put an end to this stress and strife… These are the good times / Leave your cares behind…” Sister Sledge are pure disco fantasy but to hear their gems played live was 90 minutes of uncut, unadulterated joy.
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Words: Jack Losh
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