by Katie Addleman

June 1, 2008

Sónar is like a season in itself. It imposes a new sleep cycle, calls for dietary and wardrobe changes (e.g., “Will my Red Bull fit in these hot pants?”) and, now in its 15th year, comes around as predictably as sunrise. The international event marks a turning point in the year—all becomes divided into a ‘pre-Sónar’ and ‘post-Sónar’ temporal framework for festival loyalists and artists all over Europe, not to mention for the slew of organisers employed by the larger Sónar group who, aside from the festival, are responsible for Sónar Music (the record label), Sónar Online (the magazine) and Sónar Events (the promotional branch).

All of these projects have the same aim: to support and disseminate what they call Advanced Music. And it is advanced—technologically, conceptually—but it isn’t homogenous or exclusionary. The festival’s programming always reflects this, proving that underground (and Advanced) doesn’t mean monotonous nor inaccessible.

In fact, maybe the greatest thing about Sónar is that it’s both the thinking man and the stupefied man’s festival: long days of short films, experimental electronics, museums and performances that fall somewhere between ‘interesting’ and ‘WTF’ give way to long nights of line-ups, warehouse raves, poor vision and the biggest names in electronic music (and, repeat... At essentially 72 hours long, Sónar is an unforgettable, and unforgettably exhausting, experience).

This daytime/nighttime formula generates a broad appeal, if not the artists themselves—most people won’t have heard of more than a handful of the 60 slated to perform this year. Justice, MIA and Madness (that’s right!) don’t require any introduction, but there are a few Metropolitan favourites who could probably use one. Among them are:

Camille

Any fan of Camille’s is currently gagging with excitement over her coming Sónar appearance, crossing off the remaining days on the calendar with the shaky-handed dedication of a prison inmate. It’s her singularity that inspires infatuation; born and raised in Paris, Camille is the chanteuse terrible of French pop—both a gifted vocalist and fearless explorer of the sonically bizarre. Her soaring, crystal-clear soprano reveals her standard jazz-club background but her creative mind is a fully-loaded weapon that explodes on everything she touches. Her albums are becoming progressively more eccentric and beat-heavy: her first, 2002’s Le Sac des Filles, most explicitly referenced her early interest in bossanova and musical theatre; on 2004’s Le Fil, Camille’s voice was accompanied only by bass or piano, with whatever sparseness of sound this might have produced filled in with yelps, gasps and fantastically thick vocal layering; and Music Hole, released in April of this year, is something else altogether—suffice to say that rarely are electro, hip hop, gospel, jazz and cabaret so clearly meant to be together. To hear Camille present this new disc in Palau de la Música will be to participate in the making of an “I was there” moment.

by Katie Addleman

June 1, 2008

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