Live Review: Omar Souleyman, Usurper Of Modern Medicine, DJ Wrighteous

The Bakery’s entrance, which for the purposes of the Fringe Festival has been re-christened The Budgie Smuggler Fringe World Festival Artist Club, was adorned with lines of dangling swimwear, set out like a hanging garden of gaudy polyester.

Once inside, a seaside theme in the atrium was in full effect with fishing nets, brightly-striped parasols and food stalls offering tropical delights. Providing the initial vibes, DJ Wrighteous had clearly dug some seriously deep crates to present a plinky selection of Casio doodles and pipe organ fantasies.

The tinsel curtain on the back wall of the stage shimmered hypnotically, as Usurper Of Modern Medicine launched into their cosmic noise-rock. A little self-conscious at first, the strength of their growing catalogue pulled them through, particularly the hypoxia-inducing heights of Above Or Beyond, Panacea and the closing rush of A Jam For The Dying Sun. Starry-eyed and alive with energy, they did have to compete for attention though with two oversized inflatable pink flamingos either side of the stage.

Compared to his last visit to Perth, Omar Souleyman seemed a slightly less commanding presence, but he quickly proved he still has the magic touch as the master of Syrian “dabke”, which translates literally as “stamping of the feet.” His lyrics were entirely Arabic, naturally enough, so he could’ve been singing about evolutionary psychology, Schrodinger’s cat or masturbation for all we knew, but no one was fazed as there’s something about Souleyman that inflames a room of ordinary, normally well-behaved people into a writhing mass of limbs in gleeful abandon, where even the shy and self-aware lose themselves to cavorting like cockatoos in a mating frenzy. Teasing out Wenu Wenu to impossible lengths, a relaxed Rizan Sa’id, Souleyman’s long-time collaborator, on keyboard ripped through all manner of variations one handed. The party was at its most frantic for the warp-speed, wriggling groove of Wami Wami, which the revellers at the front used as a metre to manhandle one of the inflatable pink flamingos, so that it rocked and humped in time to the pounding rhythm.

After 45 minutes and a “thank you”, which was substantially more English than he managed in 2011, there was some disappointment at the lack of an encore, but it couldn’t dampen the smiles, as the exhausted throng spilled out into the beach-themed courtyard.