Rewind, from her Hallucinogen EP, picks up the pace, but the lack of anything resembling a decent tune means Kelela – for all her coolness – underwhelms. Statuesque in a blue boiler suit, she makes slow-burning R&B with slightly ominous industrial overtones, the combination of crunching electronic drums and meandering, string-laced melodies sometimes calling to mind Homogenic-era Björk – who has praised her in the past. She has worked with musicians and producers from London label Night Slugs and its American sister imprint Fade to Mind. Paak doesn’t become huge, something will have gone very wrong.ĭespite impeccable hipster credentials – Kelela’s languorous psychedelic soul struggled to match. By the time it morphs into David Bowie’s Let’s Dance, the crowd are sold. His music is a propulsive melange of hip-hop and soul that culminates in the irresistible strut of Am I Wrong. Paak has the golden opportunity of a captive audience and wraps both arms and legs around it. With no one leaving before Drake gets here. Paak, protege of Dr Dre and former worker on a marijuana farm. The lucky few inside, however, are treated to a triumphant set by the confusingly punctuated Anderson. I n the late afternoon sunshine outside the Fader Fort, the mood is growing tense as hundreds of people are coming to the growing realization that they’re unlikely to get in to see the “secret” headliner Drake.
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