Sault Cleo Sol All Points East
So, picture this: you’re standing in a field in East London, the sun is doing its best impression of a warm hairdryer, and the air smells like a glorious mix of overpriced veg...
So, picture this: you’re standing in a field in East London, the sun is doing its best impression of a warm hairdryer, and the air smells like a glorious mix of overpriced vegan burgers and sheer musical ecstasy. That, my friends, is All Points East, the festival that somehow transforms Victoria Park into a holy pilgrimage site for music nerds. And in 2026, one of the headliners made the whole crowd collectively forget how to breathe: the ethereal, mysterious, and frankly obsessive duo of Sault and their lead singer, Cleo Sol.
Now, if you’ve never heard of Sault, don’t panic—you’re in the majority, which is exactly how they like it. This is a collective of musicians so secretive they make Banksy look like a Kardashian. They drop albums like confetti, usually with zero warning, and their members perform in masks and robes, like a genre-bending cult you’d actually want to join. But the voice cutting through all that anonymity? That’s Cleo Sol, a British soul singer who sounds like she’s been sent from a dimension where everything is made of honey and slow-motion heartbreak.
Let’s talk about the setlist, shall we? At All Points East, Cleo Sol didn’t just perform—she levitated. The woman stood at the mic for over an hour, barely moving, while the crowd swayed like a sea of emotional jellyfish. She opened with “Wildfires,” and I swear I saw a grown man in a bucket hat cry into his pint of Camden Hells. By the time she hit “We Might Even Be Falling in Love,” the entire festival had collectively forgotten their own names. It was intimate, even though there were 30,000 people there. How? Witchcraft, probably.
And then Sault’s backing band kicked in. Imagine if Funkadelic, a gospel choir, and a cool uncle who only plays vinyl had a baby. That baby then drank a triple espresso and learned how to play every instrument at once. The percussion was so tight you could bounce a coin off it. The bassline? It was less a sound and more a physical demand for your hips to move. Even the guy selling overpriced water was busting a move. It was that good.
Here’s a surprising fact to blow your mind: Sault has released seven studio albums since 2019, and they never, ever promote them. No interviews, no billboards, not even a single Instagram post. Their website is just a black screen with a link to buy their records. Meanwhile, my aunt’s cat has a more active social media presence. The collective’s anonymity is so intense that fans have literally debated whether they’re aliens or British spies. I’m not ruling out either.
Sault, Cleo Sol and Chronixx at All Points East 2026: a dizzying
But the real magic of the All Points East set came from the contradictions. You had a singer as vulnerably soulful as Cleo Sol, backed by a band that could rock the roof off a cathedral. When they played “Free,” from their album Air, the energy went from church-quiet to a full-on revival tent. Strangers were hugging. A woman next to me whispered, “This is the best day of my life,” and I believed her. I also think she might have been planning to propose to the air. Respect.
Let’s not forget the festival vibes themselves. All Points East is like the cool, slightly messy friend who throws a party in a park. You’ve got a Ferris wheel, art installations, and food trucks selling things you’ve never heard of (quinoa falafel with truffle ketchup? Sure, mate). But the main stage that day belonged to Sault and Cleo Sol. They didn’t just play songs—they created a magnetic field. When the sun started to dip, they hit “Deacon’s Blues,” and the sky turned a shade of pink that seemed scripted. I’m pretty sure God was working the lights.
Now, a word on Cleo Sol as a frontwoman. She doesn’t chat. She doesn’t do between-song banter about the weather or her cat (which, given her mystery, might actually be a interdimensional being). She just stands there, eyes closed, one hand on her heart, singing like she’s personally known every heartbreak in the audience. It’s disarming. It’s also a masterclass in less is more. While other festival acts are cartwheeling across the stage, Cleo Sol proves that stillness, when combined with a voice like warm caramel, is the most powerful move of all.
All Points East 2026: SAULT, Cleo Sol & Chronixx Deliver Provenance
I will say, the crowd did go a bit feral during the finale. When Sault played “Bitter Streets,” the entire front section turned into a mosh pit of soul—not angry, but devoted. People were jumping, crying, and screaming the few lyrics they knew. It was beautiful chaos. Someone threw a hat onstage. Cleo Sol ignored it, which I respect. That hat had no business being there.
If you missed it, don’t worry—you can still watch shaky clips on YouTube, but it’s like smelling a photo of a pizza. The real experience was about being a single cell in that giant, sound-bathed organism. Sault and Cleo Sol didn’t just perform at All Points East. They summoned something. A mood. A reminder that music can still feel secret and sacred, even in a park full of people who overpaid for lager.
So, next time someone asks, “What’s the deal with Sault?” just say this: Don’t try to find out. Just show up. And bring tissues. You’ll need them.
