From Panorama Music Festival 2018: Before Festival Cancellation, Melancholy Pours Over Daniel Caesar's Set

The flood and rain imagery in Daniel Caesar’s lyrics felt biblical against gospel harmonies during his Panorama set on Friday. Because of the torrents that ultimately canceled the rest of the day’s acts, they also functioned as sighs of gratitude for a dry 45 minutes. Most strikingly, they provided metaphors to match the resigned sorrow that Caesar emitted from the stage as he walked the emotional line between chill and heart-on-sleeve.

Maybe he was channeling genuine feelings of heartache at this show, or maybe he has nailed the art of understated acting to a mesmerizing degree. In his recordings, he lends his voice (the most tender in contemporary R&B) to songs about love and longing. His live performance on Friday doubled the intensity of these depictions. He often sang with a faraway, upset look in his eyes and a rubato hesitancy, all of which was made convincing by its near imperceptibility. It felt like he was letting in the crowd on a personal, exquisitely-sung therapy session.

He was lucky to have performed at all. At around 3:25 p.m., the marbled sky over Randall’s Island Park began to spill freely. Fans waiting for Caesar pulled out ponchos and transformed into worried mounds of translucent plastic. Miraculously, the rain abruptly abated before the set, and the soaked mass screamed as Caesar, along with a temporary streak of sunlight, had just made his appearance. After Caesar’s set, the storm took center stage at 5 p.m. Panorama canceled the remainder of the day, including headliner The Weeknd, Migos, Father John Misty, and Yaeji. The artisan food stands shut down, drinkers hurried out of The Grove, and Bearcat—who was mixing beats at The Pavilion (Panorama’s DJ artist space)—cut her show short. Fans awaiting Dua Lipa continued to chant her name in front of the stage for several minutes, to no avail. Attendees shouted profanities about the festival as they splashed their way out.

Given the weather, it was fitting that Caesar’s set had kicked off with the bridge from “Freudian”, the last song from his debut album of the same name. “Send me kisses when it’s gray skies,” the backup trio began. In contrast from the stilted, soldierly march that this part brings to mind in the recorded track, the fifths and octaves performed live conjured the grandeur of light streaming through stained glass. It was a reminder of both the religious influence in Caesar’s work and the threat of the oncoming storm.

Impassioned instrumental crescendos bolstered Caesar’s vocals, particularly in “Neu Roses,” which had a full-on rock vibe at its climax. However, the set found its strongest moments when the drums and bass cleared, like the clouds, to let his falsetto stream through uninhibited. At these moments, his high notes had the kind of softness in which you can cocoon yourself before going to sleep at night. The instrumentation in “Hold Me Down” illuminated his voice particularly clearly, with only a gentle bass and gliding choral echo of his spoken lyrics accompanying his vocals.

His movements were slow and his presence still, and even his brief bounces into the downbeat felt careful. The visuals, too, were unshowy. He wore a black shirt and blue jeans and his dreadlocks bunched in pigtails. The screen behind him repeated a grainy, so-sunny-it's-washed-out video of everyday moments: a closeup of food on a dining table, beautiful cars, Caesar walking. This simplicity redirected the eye to the nuances in Caesar’s unsmiling demeanor.

And during “Best Part” and “Blessed,” as he smoothly navigated the dips and twirls of the melodies, his eyes looked truly sad. The lyric “You’re my sunshine in the rain when it’s pouring” in “Best Part” took on a new vividness in the context of the storm. He had opened his set with the end of his album, and now he closed with its beginning, “Get You.” Without prompting, the song’s opening lines swelled from the crowd: “Through drought and famine, natural disasters, my baby has been around for me.” The words were perfect for a congregation that had stuck it out through the flash flood warnings to show their appreciation for Caesar. He nodded approvingly, almost amusedly, at the crowd, and extended the microphone toward it. A rare smile hovered on his lips.

After the festival was evacuated, its patrons were straggling across the endless gray concrete of the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge when a particularly loud rumble of thunder inspired a collective whoop. This cheer was just as excited as the one prompted by the sunlight before Caesar’s set. It was a welcome contrast from the gripes a few minutes prior. It seemed like an acknowledgment that rain, even at its most frustrating and destructive moments, can be a source of unity, creation, love—a sentiment that would make Caesar proud.

—Staff Writer Liana E. Chow can be reached at liana.chow@thecrimson.com.