The gigantic sound system of the Stone Island Stage was confirmed again this year, with an upgrade that allows for better enjoyment by the audience. While Blood Orange left the main stage speechless by playing every possible instrument for his new “Essex Honey,” on the other side, Djrum showed that all you need is a couple of turntables and a mixer to achieve a similar output. Provided, of course, that the person behind the DJ booth is a virtuoso of the kind that comes along once in a century. Friday ended on a high note with the legendary set by DJ Python and his terrifying USB stick, which, incidentally, fell out of his pocket backstage while we were talking. Luckily, I noticed it. Pure swag.

It was Saturday, however, that made the difference. After a much slower start due to the collective hangover from the previous evening, an even more intense euphoria than the day before was immediately triggered. Kudos to artistic director Guido Savini, who cleverly chose specifically adrenaline-fueled and uplifting acts, such as Model/Actriz, Ecco2k, and AG Cook, who instantly wiped away any lingering lethargy with an injection of dopamine. John Maus was then the climax of this muscular rebirth: an hour of thrashing and writhing on stage to the beat of his new wave beats, which left the American musician completely soaked in sweat amid the applause of the crowd at the Stone Island stage. I will always remember the artist’s wife, who, putting a jacket over his wet and exhausted shirt, looked at him with apprehension mixed with disapproval, as if to say, “Maybe you could have avoided those final burpees.” Lol.

Saturday added even more pathos to the closing, with a Rossinian crescendo that started with Floating Points, passed through Four Tet, and concluded triumphantly with a surprise set by Kode9. For those who were there, the Young Records showcase on Sunday was the real finale of the festival, with Smerz embodying everything that the words “loudness” and “fierce” mean.

Thinking back on the lasers, the smiles on the audience’s faces, the major upgrades to the moving lights on the main stage, the total absence of queues thanks to a highly effective wristband recharging system using cell phones—in short, all the little things that make a festival great—I feel a little stupid. Stupid because after all these years of friendship with Sergio, always trying to interpret his fascinating gaze to predict his next move, I made the mistake for a moment of believing that his death could change the C2C Festival. Not that it could get worse, but that the subtle crack created in my ego at the time of his passing could somehow widen, edition after edition. Now I know that the opposite is true, and that it is precisely during those first four days of November that I can finally reunite with a person I miss and will miss all year round, except during C2C Festival.