Allow me to begin with an apology. Turns out three days of 7-hour music appreciation will exhaust and slightly dehydrate you (you try drinking enough water when you have about 27 bands to catch live), and delay the final bit of your review. Lesson learned.
Day 3 saw a quieter crowd who, much like myself, were recovering from the adrenaline and bass-driven shenanigans of the previous 48 hours. Nonetheless, the lineup was relentlessly interesting. Case in point:
House of Waters: Apparently, it is possible to play jazz on a dulcimer. It is possible to define their sound by saying that it is impossible to hear them and be apathetic. While “unique” is certainly a criminally overused word these days, I have yet to find a band in the past five years that embodies it with greater accuracy.
The LaFontaines: You know how the Scottish have a reputation for being a tad crazy? Four rockers decided to live up to the buzz with a rough mix of hip-hop/pop/electronica and ample measures of rancor. Heavyweight riffs and visceral breakneck rhythms made it impossible to miss any art of their set for anything else in the world.
Worldservice Project: Imagine a Charles Mingus style big band met politically charged lyricism. Worldservice Project comprises five completely insane men who trashed Brexit on stage, sang about a deranged clown and put u something of a semi-absurd punk-jazz opera.
Parvaaz: One of India’s most irreplaceable sound sculptors, Parvaaz’s sonic acrobatics are never far from an ethereal tang. The crowd of lovers and loners cheered in sweet remembrance when they played “Marika”, “Beparwah” and “Ab Ki Ye Subah”. I sobbed, but I have always had embarrassingly unrestrained sentiments to deal with.
FKJ: The instrumental and vocal polyglot did not draw the expected crowd (I expected 4000 at the least), but that did not stop him from weaving quirk and awe for a couple thousand acolytes. He juggled between pitches, strings and breaths, and the crowd responded with appropriate frenzy.
Obviously, the end of Weekender was a giant bummer. Sadly, jobs and classes needed to be returned to, with NH7 mugs and buckets in tow. We departed with the winking comfort and pleasurable anxiety of guessing who might headline the 2019 chapter. I heard someone laugh into the night sky, down the last drink of the weekend and say “We’ll be back soon enough”.