Leftfield, O2 Forum, review: Nineties bass-worshippers return to make the masonry quake
Back in the mid-1990s, when Leftfield were riding high with their ubiquitous home-raving debut album, Leftism, their live shows were legendary for their sonic extremity. At the Brixton Academy, masonry tumbled from the ceiling amid noise levels reaching 137 decibels, akin to those at a space-shuttle launchpad, while at Amsterdam’s Paradiso fixtures reputedly cascaded to the floor.
Here at a sold-out Forum, it was oddly reassuring that, half a lifetime later, and under more stringent health and safety guidelines, the West London heavyweights of Nineties UK dance music were still operating in the stupid-loud zone.
Around 45 minutes into their masterclass in son-et-lumière sensory overload, however, an almighty throbbing bass pattern kicked in during reggae-tinged classic Release the Pressure, and, as I gazed up woozily at the huge brass chandelier dangling directly above me, I momentarily feared that my mind was about to be blown all too fatally. I tried not to think about it.
After concocting only four albums in 30-plus years, Leftfield have just about clung onto their place at British dance music’s top table. Where peers such as The Chemical Brothers, Underworld and Orbital have each released 10 long-players and headlined Glastonbury stages in a similar timeframe, Leftfield’s main player, Neil Barnes, has been happy to beaver away privately for years, then drop his latest cache of painstakingly sculpted electronica out of nowhere.
Thus it was with last winter’s This Is What We Do, its prosaic title masking both a dramatic backstory, in which Barnes got divorced, suffered depression, survived bowel cancer and trained as a psychotherapist, as well as the forward-facing wondrousness of the sounds within, all infused with urgent survivor’s positivity.
While last Christmas’s comeback tour was postponed due to undisclosed issues, here Barnes, 63, seemed in rude health, zipping between keyboards, congas (miraculously audible within the tech onslaught) and a one-stringed instrument – a berimbau – which he merrily twanged during another vintage classic, Song of Life. Stationed between a full-screen backdrop and five ingenious mini-panels at the front, he, mix engineer Adam Wren (his sidekick since 2010), and an enthusiastic drummer, Sebastian “Bid” Beresford, appeared more visibly engaged in live performance than most dance acts.
There was no Open Up - their best-known single - with or without original singer John Lydon, but they were regularly joined by an MC, Djum Djum, who toasted boombastically and, at one point, elicited wails of delight from a theremin. In the newer material, Barnes the therapist’s motivational messaging struck home: as Making a Difference’s sampled snippets of Anglo-Ethiopian poet Lemn Sissay averred, “We climb mountains!”
Back in the day, Leftfield were labelled “progressive house”, reflecting how they’d upgraded acid house’s fly-by-night form into something aspirational and exploratory. Even at tonight’s force-10 delivery, their Power of Listening was able to expertly further Detroit techno’s silky futurism, while Leftism’s Melt struck a blissfully jazzy ambience.
At the last, the filthy-dirty propulsive bassline to Phat Planet – Leftfield’s career peak after its deployment in Guinness’s famed 1999 “Surfer” advert – almost literally brought the house down. Even if everyone was raving a little more sensibly than they used to, Leftfield still thundered with unrepentant ferocity.
