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Sep 12, 2024 By Katie Dadarria Photography by Katie Dadarria Web Exclusive

A wise friend once told me that the English know how to do a festival right—and having only attended American festivals to this point, he was above and beyond absolutely right. End Of The Road, as the name suggests, closes out the proliferous festival season in the idyllic countryside of Dorset with four days of incredible music across genre, art installations, dance parties, roaming peacocks, great food, and an astounding attention to detail and community.

The music itself spanned all genres, with some familiar heavy hitters and tons of smaller acts from across the globe. I managed to catch at least 28 acts over the course of the four days; by no means a record compared to the pros, but still a marathon. The beauty of the crowd here is that every group received plentiful love—stages big and small were packed with old fans and curious folks turned new fans. This is truly an event for a music lover, not just someone showing up for the top billing.

New York City made a big showing over the weekend, a bit of home for my friends and I, with Gustaf’s absolute chaos and Joanna Sternberg’s deeply touching and endlessly funny tunes really running the gamut of what it’s like to live (and survive) in the city. Elsewhere at the fest and on the globe, Altın Gün’s psych rock had the whole crowd dancing, Floating Points stepped in for the oontz oontz the night craved, and MRCY and Curtis Harding brought some crucial soul grooves and moves to the daytime stages.

The omnipresent metaphorically IDLES set the Woods stage alight, and earlier on Friday CMAT’s pure, unadulterated joy and wackiness ran the show—including a “Wuthering Heights” cover that reduced some to tears of joy. An absolute highlight and a salve. There was no shortage of shred: Ireland’s SPRINTS and Gurriers were two personal highlights of righteous fury, and Slift’s shred was beyond compare.

The quieter moments were equally emotionally resonant—and truly special: to be able to pop into a field clearing to see Jeffrey Martin and Yo La Tengo on complete surprise, people climbing trees for a better view. Late night, that same piano stage was attended by festival goers turning their own tunes and covers, with strangers becoming singalong partners. Turn a few corners under the trees, filled with art installations from a grand scale to the microscopic (shout out to whoever carved song lyrics into the leaves, one of the coolest things I have seen in a long time), and find someone belting out karaoke for a hyped audience—could there be a more perfect setting for all of this? I think not.

I left the festival feeling almost envious of those who spent their entire summers jumping from fest to fest, and was delighted to meet some folks who said they’ve come to this festival year after year barely knowing any of the artists—all for the love of the experience. Needless to say, I’ve already purchased tickets to go back next year.