It’s no surprise that Sault’s All Points East performance is their first UK festival slot ever. An elaborate storyline, conveyed through GCSE-level acting and colossal set design, lands on the deaf ears of an audience who came to listen, not watch.
External factors cause a rocky start. Their set time is changed at the last minute to 5pm, clashing with every other stage. As crowds reluctantly drag themselves to the East Stage, they wait until 6pm for anything to happen: a full hour of inactivity. Worse, Cleo Sol, Chronixx and Sault are billed as Providence, meant to perform until 11pm, holding audiences hostage without set times, clarity, or other stages to go to.
A towering pyramid looms in the crowd, visually impressive but obscuring the main stage for many. Then an equivocal drama performance begins. As a collective, Sault revel in mystery: aside from Cleo Sol and Inflo, its members are anonymous. But the actors’ dialogue is inaudible, and the audience grows restless.
Finally, a traditional African choir opens before the collective launches into Glory and Free. The aesthetic – simultaneously Star Wars Tatooine futuristic and biblically ancient – looks polished, and fits with Sault’s knack for blending classical and contemporary genres in their music.
Standout moments include Warrior, with Chronixx joining on stage, Son Shine and Wildfires, perfect for London summer evenings. Yasiin Bey (formerly Mos Def) also delivers a seamless guest verse on Stop Dem.
For the rest of the show, the dancers appear to be the focus, but the visual impact is impaired by the massive pyramid. Hits like Masterpiece are diminished. Pray for Me and SOTH feel overly artistic, bordering on pretentious. Theatrics might work in an intimate venue, but for the festival crowd, the inaccessible themes feel alienating.
After another awkward drama piece, Chronixx brings the evening back with a captivating reggae set. But things unravel when Bey returns for a surprise 30-minute set, spinning like a whirling dervish while questioning societal progress in his freestyles. Neighbours gently explain, “This guy sang Ms Fat Booty.”
When Cleo Sol finally appears at 10pm, she thanks the crowd “for your patience”. Real name Cleopatra Nikolic, she looks pharaonic atop the pyramid with an ethereal voice, but by then, the crowd has thinned significantly.
Spellbinding singing can’t save Sault. The interstitial skits occupy nearly as much time as the performance, and the audience members strain to wrap their heads around something they shouldn’t have to understand.
