It always seemed a remote possibility that
such an audacious travelling festival as Soulfest would take place without any
hitches. Assembling a clutch of modern soul's most illustrious campaigners -
and bringing D'Angelo and Maxwell to Australia for the first time – was for
many more outlandish vision than possible reality. And indeed, there were
problems: perennial
canceller Mos Def missed his flight and did
not appear at the Melbourne leg and then cancelled
a side show in Brisbane, while the entire local stage in Melbourne was pulled
due to "operational and logistical issues". Sound problems reportedly
blighted both the Melbourne and Sydney shows.
But if those are the biggest problems faced
by Soulfest in its inaugural year, then the event can be deemed successful,
given the magnitude of what organisers were attempting. The notion of D'Angelo
- semi-reclusive R&B mystic with the Prince-like aura who has now made the
world wait 14 years and counting for a third album - taking the stage at the
Riverstage Amphitheatre in Brisbane's Botanical Gardens seemed preposterous
earlier in the year, yet at around 7:30pm here he emerged to join his band, the
thudding bass and swirling psychedelic guitar from Jesse Johnson (once Prince's
guitarist) confirming that D'Angelo is an artist on a different planet to the
rest of the Soulfest line-up.
His habit in rare shows in recent years has
been to litter his set with covers, and indeed tonight he opened with
Funkadelic's Miss Lucifer's Love and followed it up later with passages from
the same band's No Ass No Backstage Pass. When turning to his own songs, he
largely ignored first album Brown Sugar, in favour of 2000's seminal Voodoo. A
serviceable Chicken Grease and Left & Right gave way to a spectacular One
Mo'Gin, with its signature organ groan, before ending with an extended,
melodramatic, occasionally unhinged version of Untitled (How Does It Feel). It
was a dark, frenzied 40 minutes where he switched between guitar and keys and
again, endured some minor sound limitations. But the glow would not be dimmed.
D'Angelo did engage the crowd through call
and response and picked out women to serenade, yet he hardly exhibited the
levels of charm shown by Aloe Blacc, one of the only imported artists able to
pronounce 'Brisbane' correctly, who performed mid-afternoon. Oozing charisma,
his deeply polished, more classic soul elicited a more ecstatic response from a
crowd that remained impressively sober and sensible all day – the availability
of beer no stronger than mid-strength perhaps being a factor. The other acts
along Aloe Blacc's lines included Musiq Soulchild, slightly more adventurous
sonically, and the bouncy but ultimately tepid Maxwell, who closed the night
following D'Angelo. Maxwell, a relentlessly cheery performer, wore a sharp
tailored suit to D'Angelo's leathers and sleeveless black t-shirt, and sung in
his Michael Jackon-like trill, to D'Angelo's demonic wail. His performance was
a beacon of professionalism, but goosebumps were in short supply.
A celebration of 'neo-soul, hip-hop and
jazz' was how Soulfest was promoted, and of the rappers, the colour and
magnetism of Common easily outshone Mos Def. On better days, the latter can be
devastating, but here he was surprisingly lethargic and offered little energy
until he joined Common during his set and the pair indulged in some
Australia-themed freestyling and performed the Black Star single Respiration.
Common himself was imperious, swinging between sexually and politically charged
rhymes backed up by DJs who on the day left those behind Mos Def in the shade.
The duet was far from the highlight of Common's performance, but easily Mos
Def's best moment.
