Some nights arrive fractured, loud with intent, and stitched together by risk. A night where classic Vietnamese rock, punk urgency, experimental noise, and primal rhythm collided inside Kobe Town, each act reshaping the room before handing it over to the next. What followed wasn’t just a lineup, but a slow escalation of tension, texture, and release.
Roots and Resonance — Thangca Set the Emotional Groundwork
Opening the night, Thangca leaned confidently into the lineage of classic Vietnamese rock, but never felt dated. Their strength lay in chemistry, the quiet understanding between players, the way arrangements breathed together rather than competed. Each song carried its own emotional weight, elevated by a vocalist who didn’t just sing the lyrics but inhabited them. It was a grounding set, anchoring the room before everything splintered outward.
Relentless Momentum — The Broken Flowers Push the Limits
The gears shifted hard with The Broken Flowers, who brought a relentless, high-octane energy that refused to let the room settle. Their performance felt urgent, almost confrontational, but never sloppy. The undeniable focal point was their Japanese drummer, right arm still in a cast from an injury months prior, delivering a performance that was both precise and punishing. It wasn’t spectacle for spectacle’s sake; it was pure commitment, and it hit hard.
Sound as Environment — Phạm Thế Vũ Redefines the Room
Phạm Thế Vũ offered the night’s most immersive detour. This wasn’t a “set” so much as an environment being built in real time. Distorted pedals tore through the air, waves of sound physically vibrating walls and bodies alike. There was structure beneath the chaos, a carefully shaped sonic architecture. Eyes closed, it felt meditative and abstract; eyes open, intensely physical. Two parallel experiences, equally absorbing.
Primal Precision — Ryosuke Kiyasu Ends It Raw
Ryosuke Kiyasu closed the night with a performance that shattered any illusion that live art can be fully understood through a screen. Every strike of his snare was deliberate, his technique razor-sharp, tempo unwavering. The rhythms evoked something ancient, echoes of African percussive traditions, like tools striking wood, ritualistic and raw. It was primal without being primitive, disciplined without losing its ferocity. A reminder that some experiences only exist fully in the room.
By the end, what lingered wasn’t just volume or intensity, but contrast. Each act carved its own space, yet together they formed a fractured but coherent narrative, proof that when scenes cross borders and genres dissolve, something genuinely alive can happen. This wasn’t background music or passive listening. It demanded presence, and it rewarded it.
Words by: Mai Phương & Kiên
