By Abigail Kane
When Arc De Soleil finally took the stage at the 9:30 Club just past 11 p.m., the crowd had already settled into a mellow hum of anticipation. The late hour suited the band’s aura. There was something about the quiet patience of a D.C. audience waiting in dim light, soft chatter over a steady pre-show playlist, that set the mood perfectly for the dreamy, transportive set that would follow.
Sri Lanka–born multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, composer, and producer Daniel Kadawatha created the project Arc De Soleil as a way to connect with his roots, inspired by the sound of his father’s guitar. While based in Sweden, Arc De Soleil draws influence from sounds and artists around the world like Khruangbin, blending laid-back grooves and soulful melodies into a distinctly Thai-funk inspired sound.
Kadawatha emerged with a gentle wave before slipping behind his guitar. Without preamble, he and his band began to weave together a slow, textured groove—one that would define much of the night. The sound was lush and layered: guitar lines glistening with reverb, bass pulsing like a heartbeat, and percussion whispering through shaker hits and rim taps.
The set leaned heavily on Lumin Rain (2025), the new album released earlier this year, which expands Arc De Soleil’s fusion of Thai-funk, jazz, and psychedelic soul. Tracks like “Velvet Mirage” and “Sunchaser” translated beautifully to the live setting. “Velvet Mirage” shimmered with intertwining guitar melodies, while “Sunchaser” built slowly from soft percussion into a hypnotic jam, each repetition deepening the groove. Kadawatha’s vocals were delicate and distant—more texture than lyric. They floated over the rhythm section like mist, reminding the audience that Arc De Soleil’s power lies as much in mood as in melody.
Lighting played an essential role in the performance. Waves of amber, violet, and ocean blue rippled across the stage in sync with the tempo, transforming the venue into a kind of sensory cocoon. During instrumental breaks, the lights dimmed to near darkness, leaving only the glow of the guitar pedals and the occasional strobe catching the movement of the drummer’s sticks. At times, the band seemed almost submerged in light, as if performing underwater.
The musicianship throughout the set was subtle but sharp. Each member of the group seemed to play with perfect restraint, allowing small details to shine through: the crisp snap of a snare rim, the soft bend of a bass note, the cascading echo of a guitar riff. These moments of precision gave the performance a sense of control that kept it from drifting too far into ambience.
The audience, though calm, was deeply engaged. Many swayed with eyes closed, immersed in the rhythm rather than reacting to it.
By the time the lights rose just before 1 am, the 9:30 Club felt suspended between dream and waking. Arc De Soleil’s performance wasn’t about spectacle or energy—it was about atmosphere, about letting rhythm and tone dissolve the edges of time. For a late-night crowd in D.C., it was exactly the kind of escape we didn’t know we needed.