- As I first opened my notebook to jot notes on Sebo K at Watergate, I noticed that on the page I had opened to was a definition of the word "harmony."
The quality of forming a pleasing and consistent whole.
Positing adjectives to describe an event is never hard. Putting them together thematically via different genres and styles and hoping for a smooth yet varied undercurrent and polished result? That's the challenge. Sebo K's set was one such composition. As one person told me that night: "A whole set of minimal can get boring. One needs to colour it here, infuse it there with a bit of this and that…" trailing off as my interest in the music waxed. This was one set that had it all.
Including, what in other circumstances, might have been a cheesy moment. Around the end of the second hour of his set, Sebo calmly put his hands above his head, and started to clap with the beat. And all of the dancers answered, in unison, by transferring the incessant buzz and shuffle in their feet up above their heads too, reaching for the beautifully hypnotic shifting lights that ran along the ceiling at Watergate. Everybody was clapping together.
The room opened later than expected, but filled out quickly with dancers, partygoers and music lovers seeking rhythm and something a little more refreshing than usual. They got it. And much more. The set began enticingly minimal and gradually included a serene orchestration of house instrumentals and jazzy woods, resonating deep within house's origins. With his focus seemingly centered on dance music's past, it was then quite a change when Sebo playfully introduced another subliminal change. Immediately, we were all invited to cheekily flirt with—and move to—the new beats. There wasn't one person sitting down. Not one person moving out of place.
Sebo's set—and its gradual build-up—had been very smooth. The question wasn't whether he had changed pace and direction to match the movers, but more that our total trust in him to take us anywhere was strong. There wasn't time to ponder this for long, though, for we were amidst glimpses of tribal surprise, further enchanted by a melodious singing flute, a swelling bass groove and an incessant kick. When house vocals and sax began to trill, they were seamlessly, counterbalanced by haunting synth pads. Any of these musical elements on their own can sound unsavoury—but not here. They were parceled out in perfect amounts. The constant whistles, cheers and smiles validated this impression. Every facet of the evening was a note in a sequence of chords that played out in harmony.