In 2023, as traveling became the norm again, so was going out and seeing things in person. In 2020-21 during lockdowns I watched livestream performances online thinking, “so maybe this is how we’re going to see things from now on.” But in 2023 that all changed as I jumped in on shows, festivals, and exhibits, keen to move from “album listening” and other at-home media consumption to that old pastime: going out.
Early in the year there was MOFO (short for MONA FOMA, which is short for the Museum of Old and New Art Festival of Music and Art), an eclectic festival held in Hobart, Tasmania. Exhibits and events are held at different venues across the city, with the nerve centre being MONA itself. The museum, possibly my favourite in the world, resembles a hideaway built for a James Bond villain, and during MOFO, concerts are held on its outdoor lawn. After a day hanging out in the museum, some friends and I braved the diminishing rains outside to hear Jockstrap play a warm-up set. Then the headliner: the playfully angsty Pavement, who crashed through their set, their unique indie jangly rock reverberating into the night. Swaying in the frosty breeze, I recalled early dot-com days in foggy San Francisco listening to them in a friend’s car as she drove around the city hills looking for parking. Another show was Bon Iver, with Justin Vernon showcasing his wide-ranging voice through a mix of quiet acoustic ballads and bombastic synth-vocoded epics.
At Sydney Festival, HTRK mellowed everyone out at the red room in the CTA Business Club, while Bonobo ignited a dance party in the Sydney Masonic Centre with his brand of textured, organic house. His set started at 11 p.m., which for me had become a typical bedtime hour. “I’m a bit out of practice,” I said to my friends, determined. Luckily, Bonobo’s deft mixing carried us smoothly, from jump-inducing peaks to blissful breakdowns.
Across other venues, U.S. bands Jane’s Addiction, Smashing Pumpkins, and Yeah Yeah Yeahs brought out the nostalgia of ‘90s alt-rock, while U.K. hip-hop artists Loyle Carner and Little Simz used soul and jazz instrumentation to leverage their mesmerising, authentic storytelling.
Towards the end of the year, my partner and I saw the Japanese band Radwimps, best known for their uplifting musical contributions to the Makoto Shinkai films Your Name, Weathering With You, and Suzume. Towards the end of the show, lead singer Yojira Noda marvelled at the packed crowd’s enthusiasm: “We had no idea that anyone in Australia liked us.” I suppose artists are just as interested in discovering new fans as fans are in discovering new artists.
SXSW opened in Sydney for the first time, and I used a complementary pass for: talks (Austin architect Larry Speck and music enthusiast Derrick Gee were standouts), movies (the Australian premiere of Saltburn), and the music acts Chiseko, Ellie Shimada, Moss, Enola, Chris Lanzon, and the Japanese band Chameleon Lime Whoopie Pie. Each of these shows were held at one of the city’s many pubs and venues, showcasing the nightlife landscape across nearby neighbourhoods.
During a trip to Japan, my brother and I took a detour to Wakayama. We attended a punk rock festival that introduced us to local bands The Dahlia and Garlicboys. By the time Shonen Knife showed up (our original reason for attending), playing through their well-known songs, it was icing on the cake.
On that trip we also watched baseball games in Osaka and Hiroshima. It broke my streak of the Australian Open being the only live sporting event I saw in person for the past decade. While I’m not a fan of baseball, watching it in Japan was its own live performance. Each team had their own volunteer cheering band playing brass instruments and drums. They lead their fans with coordinated chants and songs for each batter. So the game becomes more of a song and chant fest, each fanbase taking turns to do their own performance while their team batted. During the Hiroshima Toyo Carp game, at the end of the seventh inning, everyone, and yes, I mean everyone, started blowing up a red balloon. Inflating sounds crescendoed around us until they were told by the announcer to let them go at the same time. Suddenly a flurry of red balloons scattered across the stadium, followed by cheers. “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” possibly the only song heard at American baseball games (after “The Star Spangled Banner”) was nowhere to be heard. If someone played a Japanese cover of Nena’s “99 Luftballoons” during this I would have probably fallen off my chair.
In Osaka, we went to Universal Studios Japan, making our way through Super Nintendo World, a life-sized version of Super Mario World complete with rides and power-ups. With a special wristband you can collect “coins” by literally punching the bottom of floating Question Blocks, allowing you to enter areas to play other games. If you ever wanted to be in an actual video game, that might be the closest experience.
Gameplay continued in Kyoto. We stayed at Hotel Anteroom, a former public school converted into an art hotel. After our arrival, a typhoon made landfall, closing trains, temples, and shops. Besides getting supplies at the local convenience store, there was not much else to do. Luckily, the hotel’s exhibit at the time was– Japanese video games! Throughout the lobby were computers and consoles, with chairs and game controllers beckoning.
The weather was declared safe the next day. We decided to check out Daimonji, an event at the end of Obon festival in which large bonfires in the shape of kanji characters are lit in the surrounding mountains. The burning is meant to guide ancestors (whose spirits are thought to be visiting during Obon) back to the heavens with the rising smoke. I had an idea of where to see Daimonji: near the fork of the Kamogawa River. We took a bus there, only to hit standstill traffic. We exited and suddenly got caught among throngs of people with the same idea. Eventually we broke free from the crowds and watched the mountainside kanji glowing in the humid summer evening.
On the same trip we also saw a few teamLab exhibits. While the Osaka and Fukuoka ones were engaging, they were also popular, meaning crowded. One that wasn’t was located in Mifuneyama Rakuen, a garden/hiking area outside of the small onsen town Takeo. After sweating through the outdoor grounds (which apparently lights up at night), we went indoors. Soothed by air conditioning, we wandered through the dim spaces, making our way through the onsen hotel to discover teamLab’s peaceful and mesmerising light exhibits. One experience involved a literal descent into darkness, down a hotel hallway that got darker and darker, before ending at a large multicoloured digital “fire” floating above a hole in the ground.
A few months earlier in Sydney was the Vivid Light Festival, showcasing light sculptures and projections throughout the city. One experience was called Dark Spectrum, a walk through abandoned tunnels near a railway station with each area showcasing a different style of lights and music. Later in the festival, I saw my first live drone show above the water near the Sydney Opera House. Each drone acted as a pixel to create 3D characters and objects. It was interesting to see how rapt everyone was, fixated on the night sky, waiting for the next formation. I’m sure since humans learned to watch the stars, we’ve been fascinated by the allure of bright and shiny things. In a way, that’s what these live experiences are: fresh, immersive, and wondrous.
Of course, that’s not to knock the standard media one can enjoy in the comforts of home. I enjoyed a lot, from the mystery of Jonelle Patrick’s The Last Tea Bowl Thief to the wisdom of Kevin Kelly’s Excellent Advice for Living. From Bruce Springsteen’s anthemic Born to Run to Andre 3000’s ambient flute-driven New Blue Sun. From the philosophical detective science fiction anime Pluto to the calm hush of Super Cub. I certainly love the energy of going out, if only to realise how much I also like being home.
My apartment in 2023 was in a former metal foundry, complete with brick walls, wooden floors, and high ceilings. One of my draws for moving there in 2019 was a full-sized disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Soon I got pinspot lights and connected everything to a smart home setup. By the end of 2020, I got a fog machine.
During that time, I would take a break from a long day of video calls, put on some music, and say to my smart home device, “Hey, turn on the disco.” The lights would scatter and the fog would rise, turning my place into a venue of its own.
In 2023, for me the real venues came back. Looking back at that time, I clearly went out and often: concert halls, movie theatres, stadiums, and art venues. But compared to staying at home, the instinct was the same: find an entertaining spectacle and enjoy it.
Bonus beats
This is part of an ongoing series called Resonance Calendar, in which I document the media I went through in a year, create a visual collage, and write about it. Previous years:
High resolution version posted on Exposure.
Want to listen to the 2023 music playlist? Click in and take a listen.