Recollection comes randomly and in the wrong order. I emerge on Sunday morning with my memories already blurred not by intoxication, but simply sleep deprivation and sheer data overload.
But is Sonar now just going to be the things I know condensed into a weekend in the sun? Or can it still be something bigger, into which I venture into unknowns and emerge, newly learned and inspired? Two years later – is it because I've become part of that world that was once and foreign and a bit aloof, or is it because I've grown, seen more, been through more music? – I know that at Sonar I am going to be saturated not just in sun but familiar music and people. It was great, and grooving under the open roof of Sonar Lab to Theo Parrish and Flying Lotus, joined on stage by Rustie and Hudson Mohawke, around all my friends with the sun coming up, is one of my happiest memories. The second time I went to Sonar, I turned up alone in the middle of a trip through Europe thinking I'd bump into a friend or two, and found I couldn't turn round without bumping into a someone. Some acts had massive historical status, some were new, niche and exciting. Among the thronging of twenty-somethings, I heard things in a combination like nowhere else.
The first time I went to Sonar it was a big new world full of cool people and, more importantly, music that had a certain mystique - for me at least.
