We are restless to escape the city and the anticipation of what was to come was comforting against the blare of the obnoxious ocean of traffic that surrounded us. The sign boards gave hope, we were close; they also gave warning, “Monday morning hangover - this way”.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Yes we were — at the first edition of the NH7 Weekender in Bangalore and it was a lot to take in — the blazing sun, brightly coloured flags and banners, hundreds of hipsters who hid behind Wayfarers and a schedule that held great promise.
The stages were just about getting toasty, and Advaita took it away. The sun didn’t sear as much, the band closed their act with ‘Durga’, the crowd was happy and all was well. It was time to find Warren Mendonsa and the Blackstratblues.
There was a hint of trepidation as I entered the black rock arena, “What is a mosh pit like?” I asked, “The wall of death,” a friend offered. But the Blackstratblues seemed friendly enough, Mendonsa is a guitaring genius and they were joined by Karsh Kale and Jai Row Kavi as they closed their set with ‘Ode To A Sunny Day’.
We rushed to see Shaa’ir + Func. Monica Dogra wore an expansive canary yellow skirt and performed ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ as a tribute to the late Pandit Ravishankar. The audience danced to her tunes as she swayed her hips and showed us just how low she could go.
The December cold was starting to nip at my toes and the tip of my nose but a sip here, a swig there, and the air crackled with energy. Leave the map and schedule behind and go where the music takes you – it took me to the Dewarists stage where Papon And The East India Company were performing and the crowd sang with them, ‘Banao, banao, banao, banao, banao, banao, banao… right now’
Pentagram, Rudy Roots, back to Papon and pause when a voice said, “Are you fans of Fink? He is sitting right there.” Fin Grenall sat at a booth, making small talk and signing autographs and we stood shyly on the side. Fin’s voice is viscous, like a pack shot of honey flowing out of a jar, he promised that he would play ‘Pretty Little Thing’, shook our hands and we were on our jolly way.
There was no time to lose — the light was fading and excitement rode high. We split our time — we locked our hands so that friends would be close and went to find the Foreign Beggars at the Eristoff Wolves Den. MC Orifice Vulgatron and DJ No Names scoffed at Bangalore’s energy levels and just to prove a point Bangalore rose in collective holler for all we were worth. We danced to the scratchy beats and the rapid hip-hop, said Amen, and then went to Fink.
Somewhere I read that Fin is the voice you might want to hear before you go to sleep and I heard the truth in those words. The three-piece band from the UK was excited to play for Bangalore and the crowd turned up in droves to see him. Couples swayed and there were group hugs doing the rounds when things got too overwhelming.
The last act was done unless we counted Testament and there was nowhere else to go so I waited on the sidelines of the rock arena watching the hundreds of fans who screamed with the American metal band. And I remembered what Nietzsche said, “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music”.
The night was over and we staggered home, tired and dusty with a head full of music, truly, blissfully happy…
It’s that last hour between darkness and early Sunday morning, the last street lamp burned and the gentle tug of the bands around my wrist was exhilarating and reminded me of what was in store for the day. The Weekender was the long time pending beginning for Bangalore to a new way of music.
