Dispatch from Formoz Day II: "Are You a Hologram?"

Sweet Jesus on rollerblades!! Day II has been so phenomenal that I'm beginning to feel a little guilty, like I've glutted my ears beyond my reasonable right to such aural awesome.

Seriously stop it guys. Just please disappoint me a little. You're creeping me out.

I'm too tired to write too much, and I still have a climactic Day III to rev up for (the schedule is so packed and solid that I don't know how I'm gonna grab dinner/drinks in between shows), so here's a quick summary:



I had absinthe, with flaming sugar cubes and absinthe spoons and all. I'm told the absinthe in Taipei, while legal, is rather low on the wormwood content. It made a cool drink anyway, and it still had a special kick that set the mood for the concert.

蘇打綠 (SodaGreen) was the pitch-perfect, saccharine folk outfit that they're supposed to be. The keyboardist was also flamingly homosexual.

We went to watch 絲襪小姐 (Ms. Stockings), whose drummer is Sonny's guitar instructor (!). It was a chill stage where everyone sat on the pavilion's red tile ground and around trees, sipping beer. They had a girl violinist and I've never seen the violin rock so hard. Also, Sugar Plum Ferry's guitarist was in their formation and it was his birthday! They gave him presents onstage. It was a d'awwww moment.

Mercury Rev: I was expecting them to be modestly, blandly good. Some low energy dream pop. Folded armed head-nodders floating into the night. Flaming Lips without the flaming.

Mother of god, absinthe shots before Mercury Rev was definitely a good call. They were the highlight of the night.



"Are you a hologram?" was one of the many weird things they had displayed on the screen behind them.



I would so inundate you with a lot more videos. It's so hard to choose between the clips.

Japan's punk pranksters 銀杏Boys literally rocked their hearts out, putting FLCL's finale to shame. I picked a clip from their last song, post-rockout: the lead vocalist is left with his boxers only, having smashed a number of things and kicked himself over. He has an absurdly huge mascara bank smeared under his eyes so he could sweat and scream and have his black tears running all over his face by the end of his gig, laughing hysterically, spent and naked, his heart offered to you in outstretched platters, what Dave Eggers claims to be by the end of his book -- the sheer mad joy of Beats. The cheers tore apart everyone's throats. This is what a reckless party at the end of the world would sound like.