接下來!
5/08(Sat) Bei City Rock Festival 春響音樂節
Bei City Rock Festival 春響音樂節 2021
photo by Leon's Photography × 周愚民
Seven hours of indie rock bands and four food vendors set in the heart of Maji Square! You ready to rock this town!?!
準備好迎接這個春天最大的LIVE音樂盛會! 七個全台最紅最屌的獨立搖滾樂團連唱七小時,從放克、金屬、迪斯可、流行到搖滾唱好唱滿,陪你嗨整夜! 唱累了還有多款特色調酒及四家異國美食攤販,讓你吃飽喝足後繼續跳! 這麼炸的組合僅此一夜在Maji集食行樂轟炸你的小宇宙,錯過就再也沒有!還在等什麼?我們5/8見!
★ 樂團 ★
晚上 7-8 - Gold Seal
晚上 8-9 - Pangolin
晚上 9-10 - The Getaway Pricks
晚上 10-11 - P!SCO
晚上 11-12 - 88Balaz
晚上 12-1 - Mary Bites Kerry
ϟϟϟ P!SCO ϟϟϟ
2010年成立於台北,P!SCO被樂迷封為「最能挑戰肌耐力極限的跳舞搖滾樂團」,2016年入圍金音獎最佳現場演出獎,由主唱、吉他、bass、鼓和鍵盤組成的五人編制,強調視覺與聽覺兼具的表演方式,其獨特亮眼的舞台魅力絕對要看現場才能體會!
融合搖滾、電子、古典等元素的多元曲風難以被定義,non-stop表演形態讓演出絕不冷場。此外,P!SCO也非常重視與台下的互動,從簡單的手勢、吶喊口號到大合唱,讓所有來看表演的樂迷們都成為參與者,創造出台灣前所未見的演出風格,吸引受眾目光。
每場演出,P!SCO都會在舞台上掛一面彩虹旗,表達對LGBT與弱勢族群的支持。2019年釋出新歌〈光圈〉,描述從小因性別傾向被欺負而不斷質疑自己的痛苦,此曲在網路平台的播放成績十分亮眼,也使P!SCO的彩虹形象變得更加鮮明。
由於總是能將場子搞熱,P!SCO時常受邀參與大大小小的音樂祭。成軍九年以來,不僅走遍台灣各大live house與大型音樂活動,亦曾參與過日本富士電視台、愛知電視台錄影,並前往日本、韓國、馬來西亞、新加坡、港澳中國等數個國家、超過20個城市進行演出。
ϟϟϟ. 88Balaz ϟϟϟ
88balaz是一隻來自台北的標準4件式搖滾樂團,現場常常加上打擊樂手和手風琴手音樂以藍調搖滾為基調,大量的龐克能量和噪音吉他。歌詞描述人在每個成長時期荒謬卻日常中實在上演發生的掙扎。看似率性諷刺,藏著細膩的意念。用粗糙直接的方式撞進你心裡,持續不間斷在台灣,日本,中國,美國,東南亞巡演。曾經多次獲得台灣各種音樂獎項,包括最佳專輯,最佳樂團,及最佳現場演出。要讓搖滾樂充滿你生活的每個地方、每個大。小。洞。讓你每個毛細孔都不再鬱悶大噴發!在最絕望的時候,像是最粗的沙紙一般,抹平藏在心裡的那些坑坑洞洞!
ϟϟϟ Mary Bites Kerry ϟϟϟ
2009年成立的瑪莉咬凱利,是台灣少數融合管樂的 大編制搖滾男子團體。曲風是台灣難得的 ska 加上 punk 還有 ska-punk 融合而成,雖然已經從新鮮有趣變成靠經 典曲目生存的老牌樂團,但活力依然不減,他們在舞台上 蹦蹦跳跳,大唱大叫,歡樂的氣氛總是能感染台下的老老 少少。團員人數最多曾經來到十一人,雖然這樣的優勢一直沒有反應在臉書粉絲頁上,但至少現場不會呈現台上比台下還多人的情況。想要笑一下、跳一下、發洩一下、放鬆一下,或者只是想看一下帥哥,那來看瑪莉咬凱利絕對是個好選擇!
ϟϟϟ Pangolin ϟϟϟ
2013在台北成立的英美四人樂團。樂團第三代成員擅長受龐克影響的搖滾曲風和斯卡風的迪斯可情歌。Pangolin習慣讓樂團的存在慫恿觀眾活動筋骨,每首歌越跳越嗨。
ϟϟϟ The Getaway Pricks ϟϟϟ
要來像颱風、地震般搖滾你的身心。他們唯一的要求就是要你百分之百進入派對模式來玩。還有你的靈魂。他們可能也會給你要那個。
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GENERAL ADMISSION PRICING 票
超級早鳥 400NT
早鳥 500NT
門票 600NT
➤包含一杯330ml 的啤酒或調酒
➤室內場地。別擔心天氣
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🥙美食🥙
- SKB Burger
- Sausage Shack
- Chinita's Cubanos
- Wei's Bakery
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ENGLISH VERSION
Get ready for the biggest live music party of the spring! Seven hours of indie rock bands and four food vendors set in the heart of Maji Square! You ready to rock this town!?!
THIS IS GONNA BE EPIC!!!
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ϟϟϟϟ Pangolin ϟϟϟ
A four-piece Anglo–American musical outfit originally formed in Taipei in 2013. Now on their third iteration of band members and armed with punk-infused rock chops and ska-inspired disco thrash ballads, Pangolin habitually stare into the abyss of their own existential existence, taunting their audiences to get little looser and dance a little harder with each song.
ϟϟϟ The Getaway Pricks ϟϟϟ
The Getaway Pricks are here to rock you like a typhoon, and shake you like an earthquake.The only thing they ask for in return is that you show up in Full Party Mode®️.
ϟϟϟ Mary Bites Kerry ϟϟϟ
Founded in 2009 Mary Bites Kerry is one of the rare Taiwanese bands to mix a brass section to a punchy rock structure. It's one of the even more rare Ska band of Taiwan that also plays Punk, which makes it the only Ska Punk band of the island.
Started with a fresh sound and the sweet taste of youth (back at that time), Mary Bites Kerry has become a veteran band in the Taiwan scene, but don't be fooled: Mary has teeth and still bites with energy. When it's about getting a crowd crazy with music, MBK sets the tone and -and the bar- high. Once with up to 11 musicians on stage, the now 8 pieces formation has always met warm enthusiasm all around Taiwan and abroad.
ϟϟϟ. 88Balaz ϟϟϟ
88BALAZ is a standard 4-piece rock band from Taipei. The live performance often accompany by percussion and accordion. The music is based on blues rock and bring in strong punk energy and noise guitar. The lyrics describe the struggles and ridiculous in growth period. The lyrics seem to be satirical, but they contain delicate ideas, hit into your heart in a rough and straightforward way.
ϟϟϟ P!SCO ϟϟϟ
P!SCO is and has been one of the hottest Indie band on the scene for the last 10 years! Get ready for the non stop, jaw dropping action that is P!SCO!
ϟϟϟ Gold Seal ϟϟϟ
Gold Seal combines heavy grooves and hot improvisations with embellishments of classic roots. Gold Seal is affected by progressive and heavy rock sensitivity, creating all the original music with depth and variability to make you move.
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➤ RULES & REGULATIONS
➤Family Friendly ( children under 12 Free)
➤No Animals allowed
➤Drink Responsibly. If you are deemed too intoxicated you may be asked to leave
➤No outside food or drinks permitted
➤About refunds pleas see accupass rules.
roots rock guitar 在 I love Socks Doll Facebook 的最讚貼文
31号要去哪里玩呢?
我会和Green Market一起在Puteri habour,来跟我们一起倒数吧!
Come and celebrate 2017 with us at Puteri Harbour with a host of fabulous performances as well as bazaars and special triple fireworks.
Event: 2017 Puteri Harbour new Year’s Eve Celebrations
Date: 31 December 2016
Time: 2pm to 12am (Performances starts at 8pm onwards)
Venue: Puteri Harbour, Iskandar Puteri, Johor
FREE ENTRY
PERFORMANCES
Joe Flizzow
Joe Flizzow is a Malaysian rapper, producer and songwriter. A pioneer and industry leader of the hip-hop music scene in his home country, Joe Flizzow is also widely regarded as an influential figure in Asian hip-hop. He began career as one-half of the groundbreaking hip-hop group, Too Phat, releasing 4 studio albums and 4 compilation albums. In 2009, he embarked on a new career as a solo artist with the release of his debut solo studio album "President". This critically acclaimed album garnered Joe Flizzow multiple music industry and personality awards. Joe Flizzow also has interests in a music label (Kartel Records) which he founded in 2005. Kartel Records has since grown in a multi-genre music label with interests in music publishing, song/video production, talent management and lifestyle products.
Darren Ashley
Darren Ashley is a music composer with Malaysian roots. Jumping into the music scene as a drummer for Busco, he is now venturing into original compositions as a solo performer. A master of electropop, Darren has risen from his time in Busco to become a star in his own right. The best part about it is that he does so with his tongue firmly in his cheek and dry wit, as you’ll see here. Growing up in Kuala Lumpur, Sarawak, and Thailand, he was blessed to have a variety of musical influences from everywhere.
Salam Musik
Salam Musik is a band from Malaysia that was founded in 2006. The band is known for its new and music rhythm combined with elements of modern culture. The name of the band, Salam Musik, combining the two words "Peace" and "Music". Their first album titled "Salam Music" received the Anugerah Industri Muzik 19th for "Best Album" in 2012. Salam Musik’s stage appearance is related to the application of Malay traditional clothes during the show as a way to reflect the unique culture of Malaysia at the international level.
Nading Rhapsody
Members of Nading Rhapsody have participated in various music festivals such as Penang World Music Festival, the Rainforest World Music Festival, International Gong Festival, Malacca World Heritage Music Festival and other involvements locally and internationally. Nading Rhapsody is an Avant-Garde Borneo Ethnic Music band. The young musicians are Boy Keevin (Composer / Bass Guitar), RaWa (Ruding / Acoustic Guitar/ Sape’), Yen (Tribal Percussion), Roy (Lyrics / Vocal / Chants), Christ (Lyrics / Vocal / Dance) and Opah (Vocal / Chants). Their music presentation is a unique cross-cultural and fusion of folk songs, ritual chanting, lullabies, myths, stories of ethnic groups in Sarawak and Contemporary music with a new and different arrangement. The band has also composed a few original songs with an injection of various ethnic elements.
Etnography
A contemporary fusion band from Malaysia.
Muniros
Muniros is a local based instrumental band consists of musicians with over 30 years of experience in the industry and playing mainly in smooth jazz and fusion rock.
The Sound of Bangsa Johor
A cross-cultural drumming initiative featuring Chinese, Malay, and Indian drummers; in which drummers will present their own traditional drums as well as to experience and collaborate drumming from other ethnicities.
Other highlights include:-
Port of Call Bazaar
Johor Green Market
Food Trucks
Special Triple Fireworks
roots rock guitar 在 YOSHITOMO NARA Facebook 的最佳解答
Nobody’s Fool ( January 2011 )
Yoshitomo Nara
Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.
It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.
But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.
While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.
As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.
In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.
Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.
Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!
I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.
Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.
By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.
After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.
And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.
Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.
But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.
The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.
Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.
After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.
Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.
After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.
I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….