By Lyndsey Jimenez
Head designer

Check out our gallery of the show.

I walked in, and the bass was already radiating in my kneecaps. The lights alone would have given any epileptic within a four-mile radius a seizure. And, seven minutes in, people were already being dragged out of the show. All of this was only for opener heRobust … so, let me tell you, long story short, shit definitely got cray.

Let’s just get this out there: Gramatik killed it. From the insane light show during his two hour set to the live electric guitar player on hand, he was well worth the ridiculously long opener who was blessed with the same set time as our main man himself.

Just taking a step back from the crowd for some air, I saw that I wasn’t the only one lost in my own little world. There were break-dancers, moshers, grinders, and your ever-present “light artist” who gave free shows to those who looked like they were rolling harder than the beat that was being blown out of the standing speakers.

Noise and rhythm bounced off the walls, and if you weren’t already a little twisted, you were by the time you left. You really can’t sum up a show like this into words — you have to experience the mad vibes yourself.

But, if there’s anything you have to know about Gramatik at the Westcott it’s this: He was fucking sick.