I don’t know what it was that Agriculture were soundchecking when I walked into John Dee from upstairs at Rockefeller, but it sure sounded a lot like CKY’s “96 Quite Bitter Beings,” which was cool because I just got that song out of my head last week for the first time since like 2003. So I was due.

Sleep did happen — the state, not the band — and I woke up two hours after my alarm to discover I hadn’t actually finished setting it. Didn’t matter; plenty of time to sit around and be anxious for the start of the day. I video called home — the house is a mess, which very much is how it goes when I’m gone — and all is well. Ate a couple bites and tried to sleep a bit more, but the three double espressos tearing ass through my bloodstream weren’t having it. Sometimes living in the moment means calling yourself dumb later.

Agriculture’s lights were going to be too much for my brain. I knew that going into the set, because soundcheck, but when it happened, it was still punishing. The overwhelm is part of it, purposeful. Part of what you sign up for. But the sandblasting and the immersion, coinciding, is why you stay. Watching them, I couldn’t get the parallel out of my head between the traditions of Norwegian black metal and their subversion in terms of weather. That is, if the ‘trvest’ of black metals was born in this place — and they have it scrawled on that basement wall for people to take pictures with, so it’s arguable — in the dark and cold of winter here, then the aural brightness of Agriculture, the natural-light-reflecting-on-water of their post-rock-style guitar floating above all the pummel and screech, feels correspondingly climate-born to Los Angeles, where the band are from. To paraphrase George Carlin, the sun probably sets 10 minutes from their rehearsal space. Of course they’d make black metal beautiful.

That’s a generalization, obviously. Broad strokes to cover lack of insight. The truth of their presentation is more emotionally complex and less niche-declarative, but transgressing just the same, though maybe black metal is used to it by now; a punching bag catchall genre to push against the borders of. The tie with Agriculture is in tonal heft and the honesty of their scathe and the atmospheres they build around it, and they’d be a sore thumb in the lineup if Desertfest was stoner-only, but neither day was. It’s all one big heavy melting pot, and genres evolve. Always cool to see it happen on the stage right in front of you, though.

But the lights got me, so I headed upstairs to the Rockefeller balcony ahead of Slift. I know. Not like Slift were going to take it easy on visuals. Still. The French heavyspace trio are riding the course of 2024’s Ilion (review here), and the fact that they’ve spent the better part of the last three years touring was not lost on their stage presence.

The story of their set was kind of that I blew it there as well. Got my photos and moved on. I was dragging, had basic human needs to attend to in food, water, bathroom, so broke out of Rockefeller a bit into the set in an effort to get my head right. I was saving the second half of Friday’s weedy muffin for later in the day, but there’s nothing like when the check-into-your-flight notification comes in while you’re trying to enjoy a busy afternoon of writing, taking photos, and general sonic obliteration.

Hippie Death Cult ruled last year at Desertfest New York (review here) and with their new live album, Live at Star Theater (review here), it felt like half the point of the damn thing was to argue in favor of showing up when the band inevitably comes through where you live — Parsippany, New Jersey, if you’re tour planning — when the opportunity presents itself. So there I was. I’d already bumped into guitarist Eddie Brnabic and drummer Harry Silvers at the hotel, and they and bassist/vocalist Lauren Phillips would soon take the stage to unroll a blanket of riffs onto the crowd, roll that same blanket back up again with the crowd in it, and then send it careening down the side of a mountain. I’m really, really looking forward to their next album.

Nothing against 2023’s Helichrysum (review here), mind you, but — and I think this is something the live LP posited as well — they sound like they’re just getting started. The lineup change that resulted in Phillips taking the lead vocal role, plus bringing Silvers in on drums, made them a different band. On the record and live, they’ve explored harsher, more direct and classic feeling ideas, but at the same time, begun to develop a character for themselves separate from what it was just a few years ago. This is a strength. Some bands would just fall apart. Hippie Death Cult have figured, are figuring out, how to make it work and progress from their new starting position.

And since much of this work has happened on tours, yes, I am very much convinced their best work is ahead of them. They can be warm and bluesy — Brnabic’s shred suits all sides — or sludge-nasty and it doesn’t matter. Songs like “Arise,” “Red Giant,” “Toxic Annihilator,” as they’re playing them now, are paving the way for a band who can crush or boogie or gallop at a measure’s whim.

Phillips let out a couple Tom Araya-esque screams while Silvers was on the double-kick, and they’re getting more comfortable bringing that kind of metal into their foundation in capital ‘h’ Heavier groove. They’re a monster band. They should get monstrous, and I think they just might continue to do that. This was their first time in Norway. Someone in the crowd shouted, “What took you so long?” Near-total reset takes some time, I guess, but it’s done Hippie Death Cult well in terms of the intensity level. They finished big and noisy — at some near-final point, I looked up and Phillips’ mic stand had disappeared — and I watched the whole set and wouldn’t have wanted it another way.

Back upstairs to Rockefeller for Finland’s Oranssi Pazuzu. True, I saw them a couple weeks ago, playing their latest album, Muuntautuja, in full, no less, but whatever. I dug it then and wanted to investigate the band further. Seeing them again felt like a half-decent way to do that. The balcony was full before the floor, which the lightshow would soon justify, but the room was full by the start of the set.

The thing was, they’re a name I’ve seen around for well over a decade, and a band I’ve listened to before and appreciated for what it was but soon enough moved on. But after that Muuntautuja set at Roadburn, they kind of took up residence in the back of my head. I was glad to recognize a few songs from one show to the next, including the opener, and while they’re not usually the kind of band I’d go all-in on, and I’m positive I don’t know enough of their music to call myself a fan, after seeing them these two times, I do feel compelled to dig further.

There’s enough going on at any given moment in their songs to trace threads of influence and constantly end up in a different place. That’s black metal, straight up, but then there comes a synthier part, or a drone stretch, or some Ministry-style keyboard thrash. Krautrock guitars might meet up with some soul-grinding ferocity, and the band seem to delight in precisely that manner of fucking with norms; picking apart ideas about style and what the rules are, cherrypicking which ones they want to uphold and which they want to break and then breaking most of them anyway. Like Agriculture, they’re in-genre outsider art, but whatever the stylistic cast, Oranssi Pazuzu refuse and refute pigeonholing.

My scheduled break was next. I went back to the room, had that half a weedy muffin — I could not tell you the last time I ate an actual muffin; nine years at least; I don’t normally do breadstuffs — drank a bunch of water and took some ibuprofen, tried and failed to check in for my flight because my town has both a different mailing address and a hyphen in it (not joking) and confirmed an earlier decision about the course of my night.

Chat Pile were sub-headlining the Rockefeller, and Whores. would be on at 22.00 in John Dee. I skipped both in favor of Villjuvet at St. Edmund’s Church right around the corner from Revolver. I had gotten to see the inside of the church earlier in the day — it was active-catholic enough to give yer boy eucharistic flashbacks — and been told a bit about the project, the visual component and the work of Ruben Willem, who in addition to operating as Villjuvet is a producer and has either mixed or mastered releases for an entire slew of bands from Lonely Kamel to Håndgemang who were in Friday’s lineup, to Gluecifer, Suncraft and Kal-El. I could go on.

I’ve seen Chat Pile, again recently. It was cool. I’ve never seen Whores., and frankly part of the reason why is the danger of liking them and then having to admit to myself I like a band with that name, but I know people who swear by them, and I actually did end up watching them for a few minutes and they were killing to a packed room. But I was told ahead of time, “Villjuvet might be just your speed,” and was happy to take the recommendation to a path less traveled before finishing the night off back at Rockefeller for Elder. Slow and weird, you say? That sure does sound like my speed.

At 9PM, it was still pretty broad daylight, but the church was dark, the door ominously left open. I took a seat in the second pew — was not at all the first one there — and waited as more people came in. There was some white noise drone, but I’ll be honest and say a big part of me wanted to hear “Holy Diver,” though that went away when the actual show started.

You could follow the projections — branches and the like, nighttime ambience, loosely creepy but mostly for the soundtrack — up the white wall with the stained glass windows onto the wood ceiling as Villjuvet turned out to be very much indeed my speed. Willem played facing the projections before a sprawling pedal board, often kneeling as if to a true god being revealed. His drones came through in looped layers and hit high and low through guitar and bass amps. It was not a tune to take out earplugs, despite the lack of percussion. A couple popes later, church has really changed since I was last forced to go, probably around three decades ago. I recall a good time this January sharing religious traumas over a breakfast in Las Vegas. Life takes you weird places when… you expressly make it do that because you enjoy it.

Rockefeller was filling up quickly for Elder and I knew the second Whores. finished downstairs that crowd would flood out, which was exactly what happened. I was at the bar at John Dee at the time, chatting amiably as one does, and then it was time to head upstairs to cap the evening. A 6AM wakeup loomed large over the 11PM start-time — hazards of the trade at the end of a fest; it’s part of the thing — but with the band celebrating the anniversary of 2015’s Lore (review here), and having missed them when they came through Brooklyn with Sacri Monti, there was imperative.

I could go — and have gone! — on about Lore as both a creative statement and a breath of daring fresh air operating in an underground genre that can at times pride itself on traditionalism. I’ll gladly argue its influence is still felt and spreading, even as the band have continued to move forward. But there’s no denying it was a special moment for them, a progressive breakout in craft to which their work before had been leading. So, 10th anniversary it is. Not unreasonable.

Guitarist/vocalist Nick DiSalvo got on mic before they started and thanked the crowd, thanked the fest, said it was an honor to close it out, and explained what they were going to do, and soon enough they were off into “Compendium” and on from there. I always loved “Deadweight” but I knew I wouldn’t make it that far into the set and I didn’t. I was glad to see them though, even briefly as I felt the pull of getting back to finish work and crash out ahead of the early start. The responsible thing. The me that knows I can’t sleep on planes would thank me in the morning, but it was a hard sell to the me looking down the ramp to walk out of Rockefeller and be done with the night and Desertfest Oslo more broadly.

But I did. If I’m fortunate enough to come back next year, I’ll try not to make it so tight, but that’s kind of how it has to be for me to be here in the first place, and a couple Elder songs is better than no Elder songs, so I guess my old-ass punk-rock guilt can fuck off. Time to crawl out of my own head a little bit.

Thank you to Desertfest Oslo for having me. Thank you Ole and Preben for the invitation and thank you to everyone who has worked here to make this happen. The sound, the lights, everything has been spot on, and for this being the second year this festival has taken place, they’d be entitled to a few screwups. I saw none. I did, however, see a bunch killer bands, a bunch of old friends, and some things I wouldn’t have been able to see anywhere else. I am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity.

It is not lost on me that in the US this weekend, today, is Mother’s Day. Thank you to The Patient Mrs. for the work she does as a mother always, and for the sheer indulgence that allows me to exist as I do both at and away from home. She is so much more than the love of my life that is humbling she would deign to be it. I know I’ve said this before, but I am the luckiest boy you know.

Thank you to my mother, Pamela Koczan. Thank you to my sister, Susan Wright. Thank you to Cate Wright and Samantha Wright.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for saying hi, for giving a shit after so many years and so many typos and run-on sentences. Dumbassed blocks of text, just endless. Thank you for being here for it in some way at some point, maybe now. The support this site gets is what sustains me doing it. One more time, thank you.

More pics after the jump. No posts tomorrow (Monday) while I get caught up writing/living. Thanks again.

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Got to the hotel and slept. Slept on the plane as much as I could, but I was pretty much collapsing by the time I made it to my room. No problem checking in, and the flight was fine; a week’s worth of anxieties dissipating like water vapor only to condense again soon. The nervous cycle. Evaporation, condensation.

I watched a bit of Graveyard’s soundcheck from the balcony of the Rockefeller, which along with John Dee, Revolver Bar and the back garden outside the latter are the locales of the four stages. They’re kind of around the block from each other, but they have it set so you can walk through, all kind of in a Desertfest nook, not entirely dissimilar from how The Black Heart and The Underworld become a pocket for the Desertfest in London. At least that seemed to be the idea to me. Oslo, of course, is its own kind of party.

Restlessness takes hold. No photo pits means get there early. You start to get the lay of the land. You meet Ole Helsted, also in SÂVER and who also is part of running Høstsabbat, in the lounge after Graveyard are done. He’s apparently been living your secret dream of being a goat farmer. You say a quick hi to Elephant Tree and get a Bear Bones tape off Pete before they clear out and DVNE soundcheck on the John Dee stage, club-size, and come to think of it the smallest stage you’ve seen them on. Cool. There’s a bit to go before that, though.

I was reading a review earlier, on the train from the airport. Mistake. The dude who wrote it was talking about how this scene is old, uncool, like a bunch of weird uncles trying to break away from their dayjobs or somesuch. Seems pretty needless to pick on grayhairs who’ve probably been going to shows for decades, or even if not, just unnecessary. The gatekeeping of the insecure. Fact is, I wouldn’t trade the community spirit of the heavy underground for all the arthouse cred in the world, and I’m somebody who very much enjoys being well thought of on the occasion I might come to anyone’s mind other than my own.

There’s a longer discussion to have there about genre, audience aging and the need for fresh generational blood, and the heavy underground for sure has its issues — diversity most glaring — but I was more interested in checking out the merch and getting a sense of the vibe taking shape here, now. It was nice out. Yeah, maybe nobody’s getting any younger. Still here though. That seems worth seeing in a more positive light, is all I’m saying. In a world actively putting itself to shit on multiple fronts, some of them existential, I’m gonna take the next two days and check in with the deep value this music and the community around it has in my life. It’s not just restorative, because the fact is I’ll go home Sunday more tired than I am now — believe it — but it’s more like an equilibrium unto itself.

I popped up the alley to see Håndgemeng at the Revolver Backyard, but no dice — ‘too many humans,’ as Buzzard might say — so I scooted back to John Dee well in time for the start of DVNE. I met the guys from King Potenaz, who seemed very nice and came here from Italy, and ran into a couple other familiar faces, but by the time DVNE actually went on, I was good and ready.

The UK-based five-piece are out celebrating their 2024 LP, Voidkind (review here), and they recently underscored the point with the follow-up Live at Biscuit Factory. I knew what was coming but that didn’t stop it from being rad, and DVNE continue to impress in bringing the fullness of their studio sound to the stage. Of course there’s more direct attack and energy as one would expect, but they still build textures well around those big, strides-the-behemoth grooves, and as hard as they hit, the melody is right there.

Extra glad to have seen their soundcheck since I didn’t get to stay all that long before I was pulled away to Revolver — a smaller, basement-type club you enter from out by the backyard stage; I tried going in the front door, and there may be a way downstairs, but I didn’t know it. I’d never seen Gjenferd before and knew I wanted to, so I made my way down and in front of the stage. It was humid and packed and there was a technical problem with the camera that I needed to work out, so I was kind of in and out of there too, and not wanting to do basically the same thing for Pallbearer, the ol’ in-out, I decided to socialize a bit and say hi to folks en route to disappointing them. A bit of stress about the camera — if it breaks for real, I’m basically stuck — but I figured out the issue and to no surprise it was human error.

Gjenferd, however, do rock, and it was nice to confirm that for myself in-person. Their self-titled debut (review here) came out last year and in my mind they’re very much a part of the generational turnover happening in Norway right now. Slomosa are the elephant in the room there, I suppose, but there are new and new-ish bands all over this country and it seems like more all the time. I don’t know if it’s a movement, but it’s definitely a fresh perspective, and even for just a few minutes until the crowd press got to be too much, I appreciated the chance to see them for the first and hopefully not last time.

Back at John Dee, DVNE were loading out as Lowrider were setting up for their set, plenty of time. This would be my first time seeing them live since they put out both 2020’s Refractions (review here) and last year’s split LP with Elephant Tree, The Long Forever (review here), so I was excited to see what would be in the set, even though I could probably look that up on the internet by now. Still, I’d only seen the band once before, at Desertfest London 2013 (review here), and I can only speak from my own limited experience, but a Lowrider set is a thing to catch while you can because you don’t know when or if the chance will come again. For example, given my druthers, it wouldn’t have been 12 years between Lowrider sets for me.

So how were they? You’d have to tell me, because I kind of lost time there, to be honest. All of a sudden they were into “Ode to Ganymede,” and the set was like half over which I think means it wasn’t long enough. But was it really going to be? Lowrider were not at all the only reason I came to Desertfest Oslo — but for sure they’re high on the list. They did their three tracks from The Long Forever, opening with “Caldera” and pushing into “And the Horse You Rode in On,” which was a blast, and “Into the Grey” later on. That would have been the likely point of onstage collaboration if it was going to happen with Jack or Pete from Elephant Tree, who’d close the room later, but no dice.

“Lameneshma” is Lowrider’s “Gardenia” and even though they played “Caravan” that’s a hill I’m willing to die on. But how were they? Look. They’re one of the bands who made it okay for desert rock not to be from the desert — do you understand how good you have to be to do that shit? And they were like 20 at the time. That’s insane. I was looking forward to the newer material — nothing against the classic 2000 debut/then-swansong Ode to Io (reissue review here), mind you — and between “Through the Rift,” “Ode to Ganymede,” “Pipe Rider,” which could only close, and the songs from the split, they 100 percent delivered the set I was hoping for. And they did it as one of the best bands ever to do the thing.

True, there were sets going on when they finished — did I mention they were a five-piece? the organ was splendid throughout — but also true, about 10 hours before, I was stepping off an overnight flight. I needed a break and took one, if only to go back to the room, sort photos, have a bite of the peanut butter I brought (homemade, dry roasted, no salt, medium grind) and drink three bottles of water. I did that and then all of a sudden I was sitting up with the pillows behind me against the wall. Then I was kind of leaning over. Then my eyes started to close and I realized I needed to get the hell out of there because there was still more show to see. After an undeniable peak in Lowrider’s set, my night would wind through Truckfighters, Elephant Tree and Graveyard to close out. Tired I might’ve been, but I had places to be.

Swedish fuzzlords Truckfighters had a new song, but as guitarist Niklas Källgren said from the stage, it’s been around a while. I’d take a record happily and a couple more new songs to throw in the mix, but that new one was mellow early and picked up with a roller of a riff — my point is I firmly believe Truckfighters have more to say as a band and I hope at some point they say it. In the meantime, I very much appreciated the run (mostly, but entirely) through their albums to-date. Källgren and bassist/vocalist Oskar Cedermalm have a drummer with them who absolutely pounds when they need him to, but they have a varied enough catalog and they’re mature enough at this point that they come across as a more dynamic band than they used to be, while still making it the blast on stage that it’s always been.

Granted, Truckfighters have been pro-shop since before they actually were, but they’ve become among the most reliable heavy rock bands on the planet. They’re gonna show up and give people a good time. They did exactly that. It wasn’t a surprise — though I don’t think I’ve seen them play the same show twice, except maybe 15 years ago on successive nights — but it was satisfying. Reassuring, even. They’ll get to a record whenever. I’d rather have them take their time.

I heard Magmakammer were good — can’t see everything, but I’m looking forward to hearing their new single when I get a minute — and went downstairs to catch the start of Elephant Tree, sitting on the floor, forgetting to refresh my water bottle, not really caring. It’s been since before the pandemic that I saw them last, and that was long enough ago for people to have forgotten a vaccine fixed it. The London four-piece announced a few weeks ago that John Slattery, who had been playing keys and second guitar, was out of the band and had been replaced by Charlie, with no last name given. Thanks to the deep investigative reporting you’ve come to rely on The Obelisk for, you can now know it’s Charlie Davis on guitar and synth with Elephant Tree. He’s also in Beggar and Wasted Death. Don’t you feel better now?

The UK contingent in my otherwise too played material from the split, with Peder Bergstrand watching from the side of the stage, but they reveled in older songs as well. Bassist Peter Holland, who I’ve said on multiple occasions is one of the most charming human beings I’ve ever met — charm as a defining feature; we get to hang out sometimes at Freak Valley — got genuinely excited when they were about to play “Dawn” from their 2016 self-titled (review here, discussed here), and even “Wasted” from Habits (review here) had an older-school kick to it. I’ve written a bunch about Elephant Tree the last few years and guitarist/vocalist Jack Townley’s life-threatening accident a couple years ago, coming back from that, and I think part of what they’re most enjoying about being in a band right now is being able to hit it. There’s a lot of fun, some catharsis, and there’s a new dynamic taking shape with the new lineup.

Charlie was a groover on stage, and it seemed like Holland and Townley — that’s not to exclude drummer Sam Hart, but it was kind of hard to see back there where I was standing by the side of the stage out front — fed off that energy a bit, and they were clearly having fun as they let loose a bit through “Bird” from Habits and realized they were running out of time still with plenty left for “Aphotic Blues” to close. The build into the big riff finish brought Townley down from the stage and into the crowd, which lifted him up and surfed him back up to finish the set. Got up there, adjusted the monitor in his pocket, and hit it on the next measure. It was emotional to see them after so long. I hope I get to do it more often.

Graveyard were the close to my night, just as the first non-jet-engine volume push I’d heard in the afternoon had been their soundcheck. They were ripping it up, as they will, but I grabbed my photos and got out, in no small part to wipe off the beer that someone had spilled on my camera bag when I was taking pictures. Glad it’s hard plastic on the front, but the smell of the sides made me want to bury it. Plus I was more than willing to both admit and give in to exhaustion by then. Made some vague and tentative breakfast plans and hoofed it back up to the room to finish sorting the photos and try to catch whatever minimal quotient of typos I could by reading through what I’d written all day. I’ll reserve comment on how that went.

Tomorrow picks up in the afternoon with day two of Desertfest Oslo. It’s awesome here. I might need a new backpack though.

Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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05.08.25 – 3:55PM – Newark Airport Terminal B security line

This is a tight trip. The plan as stated is to fly into Oslo overnight, get in at 8:40AM, hop on the train to the central station and either walk or cab it to the hotel, but at that point, it will be just a few hours before the start of Desertfest Oslo. Will I sleep? Inevitably at some point. Friday and Saturday are the fest, and then Sunday my flight leaves at 11AM, so I’m up and out. Like, might be finishing the review at the airport. It wouldn’t be the first time, but a mellow pace it is not. Rock and roll and such.

Newark Airport, which I’ll call that until I die because I grew up here in the ’90s, has been in the local (and national) news the last few days for things like computer systems crapping out and air traffic control shortages. One tries not to feed one’s own anxieties with such things. I’m here, I’m going. It’s not like if the airport is operating at peak efficiency I’ll enjoy the process of flying anyhow — I am wrong in proportion and economic demographic for such things — but I’d prefer not a roiling shitshow, generally. Clearly I’m living in the wrong age.

Traffic on the way here begat traffic in the security line. Compared to airports in every country I’ve been to except the UK, Americans are the worst at that. At the gate now, or close to it. Terminal B bunches gates into a cul de sac of walkways like spokes out to planes. Two hours till the flight takes off. I’m glad I bought water. I could probably find some food, but I don’t really trust any of it. And I’m not sad the coughing guy sitting next to me got up and left.

Sandwiched snugly between the flight today and the flight Sunday is Desertfest Oslo 2025. The inaugural edition was in 2024. This will be my first time here, but I’ve been to Oslo a handful of times over the years for Høstsabbat in October and enjoyed that very much. Some of the Høstsabbat team are involved in Desertfest as well, so right on. It will be a good couple of days, as the schedule shows:

I’ll spare you the I’m-in-my-40s litany of discomforts and pains and just say I’m very fortunate to be making this trip. It honestly wasn’t an invite I was expecting, and being just a couple weeks after Roadburn — there were two years there where I went from Roadburn direct to Desertfest London a couple days later; I was younger and not a parent — wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it happen. Thank you, as always, to The Patient Mrs. for my life and its many, many indulgences.

The day at home was typical for a leaving day in that I was out of my head distracted thinking about packing, that last bit of laundry I wanted to do, scholl dropoff, shopping, back to school for meds bump, finish packing, pickup, etc. I did a little writing for a couple news posts I’ll put up tomorrow, but my head was all over the place, mostly on its way to the airport. I thought about eating a gummy before I left the house to come here, but I’m glad I didn’t. Time drags enough at the gate without being stoned slow. Instead, I’m woefully lucid. Maybe I’ll sleep on the plane.

Looking forward to getting in, duh, getting settled, and putting myself in front of the stage for the start of the first band. Where my baggage will be, whether I’ve checked into the hotel room, slept or eaten, it won’t matter. I hope to have done all those things by then, but if not, this isn’t my first dance, even if it’s my first Desertfest Oslo. I’ll survive.

I’ll be writing as much as possible, as often as possible, and will be back and forth to stages to catch the start of shows and so on. If you keep up over the next couple days, thanks. Not to say the quiet part loud, but the only reason I get to do any of the travel I do is because of the support this site gets. Thank you, in other words. Thanks for reading. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that once or twice along the way.

There are people lined up to get on the plane, maybe my plane, maybe not, but I’ve got time, and maybe an empty seat next to me if no one else checks in in the next 45 minutes. Fingers crossed. Gonna try to relax for a bit, bumble around, get a bottle of water, etc. I’ll have those other posts up before the fest starts if all goes to plan, but otherwise, next you hear from me will be from Oslo. I look forward to it.