We Took Mystery Drugs and Saw Soft Moon
Luckily, Maserati took more people by force. Living up to its name, the band felt like a European vehicle, more along the lines of instrumental Pink Floyd á lá Alan Parson's Project. Their third or fourth song even took on some Absolution-era Muse. Maserati's drummer was front and center and by the end of it, his hair was strung with sweat and his beard looked like he'd just drank yellow milk. That's energy, folks.
That tractor beam pull drew out the energy in people like possession. Sound waves transform into electrical signals in your eardrums, giving you the gift of auditory perception. Then, those electrical signals travel down the spine and turn into involuntary spasms. It has no direction. It doesn't have to.
Finally, The Soft Moon. By now, this mild high was subsiding and soon, all I would have left would be residual afterglow. But The Soft Moon was actually a perfect, droning comedown.
The visuals splattered against the far wall resembled white noise mixed with a Rorschach test. You could make out whatever you pleased. Luis Vazquez was all over the place, fiddling with a dozen pedals or twirling on the stage in a kind of delirium, punctuated by ghostly screeches.