Sónar 2012: Day Three

Maybe it’s because they’re inhabited by two different sets of people. Maybe it’s because those still dancing in a private, hedonistic bubble as the sun came up are still sleeping off last night’s excesses. Either way, there’s a lethargic mood in the air for Saturday afternoon, day three of the Sónar marathon. The local coffee shops are doing a roaring trade, with those who have managed to drag themselves from their slumber nursing that or water, sheltering behind very dark sunglasses. It’s a feeling that’s reflected in the line-up, which at first glance is somewhat lacking in star power, drawn as they are from the outer edges of what is already a diverse and eclectic schedule. Take Canada’s Keys N Krates. Combining live instrumentation with turntablism, their rambling, beat-heavy jams are the perfect antidote to the stultifying humidity and lingering hangovers. Like Flying Lotus before them, they’re not content to simply reproduce their recorded material – one exception being ‘Uncle Otis’, a dub-heavy rendering of one of 2012’s most ubiquitous samples – but instead take us on a euphoric journey through Jr. Flo’s vinyl collection; even the classical intro of ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’ gets the remix treatment. It’s refreshing to see someone make a virtue of old school turntable skills, and a light-hearted start to the day.

Having missed Nicolas Jaar the previous night – I know, I know; curiosity about Lana Del Rey got the better of me – his appearance alongside guitarist and collaborator Dave Harrington was earmarked as essential viewing. Going under the moniker Darkside, the duo conjure a new twist on Jarr’s downtempo mixes, meandering jams that ebb and flow and hypnotise you into submission. Even though certain sections are graced by Jaar’s distinctive vocals, it’s not really a collection of songs as such, more a single feeling stretched to an hour. What’s really impressive is the way they both instinctively know when to back off – a call and response swapping of the baton between Jaar’s mastery of mood and rhythm and Harrington´s staccato guitar. Equally as comfortable channeling James Brown funk or Dave Gilmore intricacy – one passage in particular was eerily reminiscent of Pink Floyd – his presence adds a whole new vibe and dimension to Jaar’s trademark sound. It’s a captivating listen and as good as it is, their EP doesn’t come close to recreating the mesmerising magic of their live set.

Those are some of the same adjectives that have been used to describe the work of bedroom-disco chanteuse Maria Minerva, praise that she more than justifies over her 40-minute stint in the Complex. It’s fitting that we’re in a chapel; her songs, which ruminate on issues such as art history, cultural theory, and feminist sexuality, at times come across as hymns for modernity, a paean to hyper connectivity and social isolation in 2012. Alone – as so many artists on show here operate – behind a table loaded with equipment and cables, she sings over loops and waves of synths, samples, and beats, her vocals lost in the swoons and ripples, akin to Zola Jesus without the juggernaut bellow. Barefoot, she’s immersed in her art; she scrunches her hair, crouches down in front of the stage, all to a background of avant-garde art projections. It’s simultaneously as highbrow and simple as music gets – one woman conveying ideas and theories through the medium of her voice.

The culture of so-called DJ sets is a curious one, and is very prevalent at SónarNight. From Yall to The 2 Bears, via James’ Blake and Murphy, they trade on their name to serve up populist sets in thrall to fashionable low end; bowel-troubling rumbles that cocoon your body and shake your very core. It’s easy to overload, and if there’s a criticism to be made, it’s that there’s very little let up or variety to be had (notwithstanding Blake spinning his own material – indulgent – and several Beyoncé tracks – inspired). If this is not your thing, you’re very much in the wrong place. Many of the DJ’s also play on electronic music’s use as an escape, a trance-like high to be maintained throughout the night. Perhaps now more than ever this type of playing-to-the-crowd escapism resonates deeply, and certainly, many people are properly going for the full-on voyage away from the troubles of the daily grind.

That might also explain the relatively sparse crowd for New Order. Despite sitting atop the festival bill, it’s clear that many have opted to keep their power dry for the thrills and pills of the dub-heavy small hours. It’s a shame, for as one of the few acts deserving of the description ‘legendary’, they deliver a set every bit as polished and professional as you’d expect. However, there’s a rather large elephant sitting in the corner, and it can’t be ignored. As well as they play, their status as a heritage act is now undeniable, and it’s a worry they’ve lost their wider significance. Having survived the death of their most iconic member, bankruptcy, and even the disputes with Peter Hook, you wonder how much of their enthusiasm comes from wanting to play, and how much from their obvious desire to accumulate what they think they’re due after two decades at the top. They sound fantastic – as they should – but when Bernard Sumner starts dancing like your embarrassing uncle at a wedding, you wonder if it’s not about time to call it a day. At some point they’ll need to do something relevant again, and I’m not sure how close that day is. You can’t deny the power of their songs and their message, but they come dangerously close to resting on their laurels – it’s no surprise to see Blue Monday dragged out over ten whole minutes. Do they miss Hook? Yes and no. Musically, having a (more than) competent session bassist gives them greater flexibility, but then it’s a slippery slope to stripping the band of the character that made them so great in the first place. After all, how many members do you have to lose before you cease to be what you once were?

Such sad thoughts are quickly banished by the bright and breezy pop of Metronomy, who give a note perfect rendition of one of last years best albums, The English Riviera, and the mad-hatter antics of Hot Chip, who follow soon after. It’s an interesting juxtaposition, pop’s new heirs following in the footsteps of the old guard, leading the way onwards and upwards. It’s a contrast in styles too; Metronomy’s clipped, stylistic music has a cold, metallic sheen with everything run to metronomic accuracy, while Hot Chip thrive on ramshackle spontaneity, bouncing round the stage in silly clothes and even sillier sunglasses. Both ‘Everything Goes My Way’ and ‘The Look’ have a studied air of arch precision, while the stabbing synths and funk bass of ‘The Bay’ is fondly reminiscent of disco’s 70’s heyday. It’s wonderfully paced, but outshined by the big-stage experience of the eccentric London five-piece. Their new album may lack the bonkers brilliance of a ‘One Life Stand’ or an ‘Over and Over’, but it more than fills the enormous Pub stage. A playful, exuberant cover of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Everywhere’ sums up their philosophy perfectly; to not take their music, or themselves, too seriously, something that the late-night revelers are only too happy to indulge.