Cleo Sol Sault All Points East Review

Okay, let’s be honest—when you hear that Cleo Sol and Sault are playing together at All Points East, your brain does a little happy dance, right? Mine did. It felt like winning the festival lottery without even buying a ticket. So, I grabbed my most comfortable shoes and headed to Victoria Park, ready for what I hoped would be a soulful, spiritual experience. Spoiler: it was so much more.

The Build-Up: A Vibe Before the Vibe

The moment I stepped through the gates, the air felt different. Not just because of the inevitable London drizzle (because, of course), but because there was this hushed anticipation. People were wearing their best Sunday-chic-meets-festival-glitter outfits. I overheard someone say, “I’ve been waiting three years for this,” and I nodded like a bobblehead because, same. Even the queue for overpriced falafel felt like part of the ritual.

By the time we shuffled toward the main stage, the crowd had this electric calmness. You know that feeling when you’re about to see something rare? Like a unicorn? But make it a soulful unicorn with a killer band.

Cleo Sol: The Queen of Quiet Power

When Cleo Sol walked out—no pyro, no dramatic intro, just her—the entire field exhaled. She’s got this magnetic stillness. She doesn’t need to shout; her voice just fills you like a warm hug from your mum. Tracks like “When I’m in Your Arms” and “Promises” hit so hard I think my heart grew three sizes. I looked around and saw people crying, laughing, and just swaying like they were at a secret living room concert.

She cracked a tiny smile after a song, and the crowd lost it. It was like she was saying, “Yeah, I know I’m good.” And she is. She’s the best kind of modest—the kind that doesn’t need a flashy outfit or a backup dancer to prove it. Just a voice, a band, and a whole lot of feeling.

Sault: The Mysterious Musical Storm

Now, Sault. Oh, Sault. If Cleo Sol is a gentle rain, Sault is a thunderstorm in slow motion. We know almost nothing about them (hello, anonymous geniuses), and yet they command a stage like they’ve been doing it for decades. The set was a seamless mix of funk, gospel, and pure revival energy.

When they launched into “Bitter Streets,” the crowd turned into a single, rocking entity. People were dancing like nobody was watching—and honestly, nobody was, because we were all too busy being transported. The brass section? Chef’s kiss. The bass? It vibrated through my trainers and up into my soul. I swear I saw a guy do a full spin move next to me, and he wasn’t even drunk—just feeling it.

The Magic of the Collaboration

But the real magic happened when Cleo Sol joined Sault on stage. It wasn’t a “feature” — it was a homecoming. Their voices intertwined like they were having a conversation only the universe could understand. Songs like “Wildfires” and “Free” became anthems for everyone there. I’m not exaggerating: a woman next to me grabbed my arm during “Free” and whispered, “This is church.” She wasn’t wrong.

The lights were simple—just warm gold and deep blue washes—but they felt perfect. No gimmicks. Just raw, unfiltered emotion. At one point, the band stopped playing for a few seconds, and the crowd hummed the melody back at them. Goosebumps. Actual goosebumps.

A Moment to Remember

There was this one moment—during “Don’t Let Go”—where Cleo Sol held a note so long and so pure that the entire field went dead silent. Then, as if on cue, a breeze swept through, and everyone clapped like they were clapping for the wind itself. It was beautifully absurd. I half-expected a rainbow to appear. (It didn’t, but the mood was rainbow-adjacent.)

And let’s talk about the crowd—for a London festival, it was shockingly polite. No one was shoving or filming the whole set on their phones. People were just… present. There’s something special about seeing a band that makes you want to put your phone away and be there. Even the guy who spilled his pint on my shoe apologized with such heartfelt sincerity that I almost thanked him.

The Afterglow

As the final chords faded and the lights dimmed, everyone stood there for a beat, not wanting to leave. Then came that collective, satisfied sigh—the sound of a crowd that just witnessed something extraordinary. Leaving the park, I heard people humming “Wildfires” under their breath. Strangers were smiling at each other like they shared a secret.

Was it the best festival set of the year? Probably yes. Did I cry? Maybe twice. But more than that, it felt like a reminder: music doesn’t have to be loud or complicated to move you. Sometimes, it just needs to be true. Cleo Sol and Sault gave us that truth, wrapped in a golden, funky bow.

So, if you ever get the chance to see them live—together or apart—go. Buy the ticket, brave the drizzle, and let your heart get a proper workout. Because in a world that often feels too loud, too fast, and too much, a night like this is a gentle, joyful rebellion. And honestly? We all deserve a little bit of that.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to listen to “We Are” on repeat and try to relive that breeze. You’re welcome to join me. 🌧️✨