Coffeeshopblues driving the rust bucket, with a converse sneaker hanging from the review mirror.

Baptism By Fire

I must admit, I had fallen somewhat out of love with Rock’nRoll over the years, but it’s not every day you luck out. Head first, they say. Bash and I scored some tickets to this festival, a small(ish) one, Endless Daze. You’d be sorely mistaken thinking we weren’t going to capitalise. I’ve heard of it described as boutique. Sure, not exactly the label I’d go for.

Given, it’s not massive, nor is it not over a long weekend. But who needs more? Yeah, its laani, but not in a showy way. Let’s be honest, its bloody lekka to not have to hold your cigarette butts too long when you leave your pocket-ashie at home. 

Even though an intimate crowd, we were all accounted for. The Ravers? Check. The Costumed? Check. The ballies? check. funk kids, cool kids and a man in crutches, properly having it! Our garden of beasts, if you will. A line stolen from, witty humble Candice Gordon

On stage it was the same deal, suiting the eclecticism in modern music taste – thanks net. The stage was populated primarily by home grown South African artists; The Brother Moves On; Runnaway Nuns (Check their innie here) to name a couple. It too was, in the same breath, shared by differing styles. Blurring not only map lines but those of genre too. Cherried by artists sharing on subjects such as universal basic income, social change and being far too hung over. What really got my goat was the darkness available to explore, between moments of its all-alright ecstatic dancing and social commentary there were deep dives into self reflective trance-like states. Now to be fair, that was partly due to my state of mind, but the evidence was hard to ignore, peace out to the lady standing shedding a tear mid crowd, I hope that helped. 

Armed with hard clear sound, me-oh-my were the musos taking us places. Best believe we were out there battling demons. That’s exactly where they want you.  Encapsulated by the line, “I want to make you feel something.” a NONN lyric, and their utter delight at the ‘battling demons’ line before. It’s fair to say they did their job.  Sure, there were some theatrics, but much of it genuine, or at-least genuinely good. Let’s put it this way, there were more well deserved moshes than shallow “we want more!” chants. The point of the festival was the music, that much was clear.

Insofar as one man’s experience, rock is not dead. Consider my faith restored. We’ve all got that dark side, it’s probably best  to have a place to explore that un apologetically and without doing harm – thanks. For more of the dirt and grime check out Media Madness on what it was like from the eyes of media, and the ramshackle ramble of a time had.

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