There’s many a repeat offender from the mainland that venture to Hobart in January for Mofo. It’s better than a standard family holiday at the beach but you find yourself needing a holiday from the Mofo holiday.
The unhinged mayhem that is Faux Mo, the official after party, is the final nail in the coffin. One night I accidently found myself in the Faux Mo green room (refer to documentary evidence of a new late night art form- Extreme Body Improv. These unscripted theatrics can end up in the Emergency Room, hence the excitement, but basically it’s when drunk people decide to throw their mates up onto or over their shoulders, just to see if they’re strong enough. Nailing the landing is the tricky bit. If it’s achieved without blood the audience erupts into relieved applause. I blame Extreme Body Improvisation on all those circus Tafe courses that are so popular now).
Ran into Beau McCafferty. Beau is another repeat Mofo offender. Beau’s mates made wagers on how long it would be before Beau found an excuse to get his gear off. It was Friday night when Beau discovered the Warholian silver foil lined shower area, with clear Perspex door, scented bath foam, running hot and cold water and fluffy towels. At Faux Mo they think of everything, even the often neglected Female Gaze.
If you haven’t already been to Mofo, do yourself a friggin favour. It’s a hectic way to start a year, seeing acts as good as Chris Thile, Punkasila, Sun Ra Arkestra, The Julie Ruin, Psycroptic and The Orb. But factor in some recovery time before you head back to your inbox.