weekender has returned after a three-year hiatus to find new time signatures to bludgeon your brains with. Following a string of locally sourced warm-up acts, are the first proper draw on Friday. It’s an uphill battle for the post-hardcore connoisseurs. They’re down a guitarist and saddled with a poor mix, but when they click, they’re untouchable. Unjustly stuffed into thewhose genre-splicing rock deserves to be cramming stadiums. Upstairs, bring the beefy slam, offset by a bit more beefy slam. Experimental they ain’t, but they’re heavier than a continental shelf. Headliners rock up 25 minutes late, although the second they open with the lush all is forgiven. and are progressive pop-metal masterclasses, the sound is flawless and strobe lights flash so wildly they may as well be spelling out “fucking rad” in Morse code.
