When Jacuzzi Boys and The Soft Pack play, the crowd moves with the riffs and grins – the vibes are good. When King Khan & The Shrines mount the stage as an ensemble from another land, bodies go airborne and amps are picked up and senses are lost in the raucous neo-soul and feral showmanship of King Khan himself. When Thee Oh Sees break into “Contraption/Soul Desert,” the front stage becomes a graveyard for half empty beer bottles and abandoned shot glasses, alcohol and fluids spray in all directions, strangers scream at one another and glide overhead. Then Fucked Up scales the stage, Damian Abraham strips down to his tattered boxer shorts, and transforms from man to entity in a performance that was something of a climactic exorcism upon the foundation of punk rock.
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