The PsychFest takes place every year at the end of August and has become an essential date for lovers of psych guitars and seventies-inspired sounds. For a whole day, the organizers take over the city center, offering around 70 shows and side activities (ranging from mindfulness and creativity sessions to book signings, writing workshops, and music production). It’s a vast program that quickly feels limited if you’re trying to catch as many bands as possible.
The day kicks off at 11 AM with yoga activities in the new circular square of Vita, the Korean center known as “Circle Sq,” where tents with DJ sets run throughout the festival. The square becomes a kind of semi-desert that dozens of people—both locals and festival-goers—cross on their way to the next stage.
How you approach it depends on the kind of day you want to have while navigating this trippy schedule. You could take it easy, choosing only the bands you’re most interested in and strolling from bar to bar. Or you could challenge yourself to discover as many acts as possible. In fact, it’s even possible to spend the whole day without leaving YES, with exciting bands playing upstairs in the Pink Room and down in the basement, while DJs keep the energy alive in the lounge and up on the rooftop until 4 AM, never letting the music stop for a moment.
My first incursion of the day was Bubble Tea and Cigarettes, evocative, romantic, and chromatic. Hidden behind a dense mist of vapor that kept them in the shadows, their music could easily belong on my caress-playlist. Licks of sweet electronica, applause flavored like strawberry and chocolate sips. The light radiating from the back of the Pink Room stage at YES shifted through magentas, blues, and purples for the entirety of the set. Gentle drum beats, delicate sways of a dream that entangles your dreams. Their faces, hidden behind long fringes, seemed to underline what I believe might be their wish to spread the value of music over personal image. Behind guitar and keyboards, the two main figures and vocalists appeared dressed in black tunic-like kimonos that reached the floor. “Tatami and flowers in your room,” I thought. They packed up and smiled, and the audience, after a brief and thankful applause, emptied the room in an instant. Each person off to their next adventure. Timetables here are tight, precise.
After a small incursion into the bar, where the vibe leaned more rock-driven and upbeat, the room buzzed as people drifted through. I submerged myself in the basement, where Cryogeyser was just starting. Following a post-dreampop, shoegaze style with a grungier beat, spotlights fixed on the lead singer, they delivered a set of dreamy guitars and raw, powerful poetry. A more personal proposal, with the singer sharing stories and connecting with the audience between songs. Thick traffic of people flowed in and out of a fully packed room. The singer’s voice was sad and deep, with a single spotlight reserved for her, framed by golden, green, and pink lights that invited us to drift away. The crowd, by contrast, was shrouded in complete darkness.
My main decision at this point: do I stay and finish the concert, or should I go for a tasting? In the main lobby, Black Sabbath, Khruangbin, King Lizard, The Meters, and the Immortal Unknown Orchestra were blasting. People scattered—walking, chatting, relaxed and at ease, enjoying the heavy-hitting, pure ’70s psychedelic rock brought by 8 Miles High Club b2b Liv Kenny. I didn’t have much time to spend if I wanted to continue my incursions, but I realized then that Psych Fest is one of those festivals where you need to choose your battles. You can pick your favorites and focus on them, or open yourself up to discovering new bands, or simply lock into the high you want to reach through music. Styles for nearly every taste, from the most laid-back shoegaze to the heaviest, most intricate guitar work.
My next stop was The Deaf Institute to catch the London band Ghost Car, a group of young women, full of energy, playing a playful kind of rock. The city felt connected. With Circle Square open to the public, dozens of people wandered through the stalls set up there, though few seemed to stop to dance or browse.
By the time I reached the venue, the room was packed to the brim—even the balcony and the stairs were overflowing. Everyone was respectfully enjoying this super-rocky performance: keyboards, punky duets that felt almost innocent, and fun, lively drum rhythms that brought back memories of early 2000s bands. Cheeky and bold, they smiled to each other between verses. Very “las perras del infierno.” Toward the end of the show, one of the singers grabbed a Höfner bass, passing it back and forth between songs. A true delight to witness their flexibility, playfulness, and good vibes, all wrapped up in a set that ended with applause, ovations, and a crowd that stayed with them until the last note.
One floor down, in the same building, WOIOI had already started right on the dot. The queue to get into the small red room stretched past the glass doors, people crammed onto the stairs to catch the music from outside. Upstairs, you could hear the soundchecks of the next acts. I managed to squeeze into this little fishbowl, packed tight like sardines, this time immersed in waters tinged with jazz, funk, and psychedelia. Four expressive guys, almost static in their positions on stage, took us on a journey through endless melodies in an eclectic style that sometimes brushed up against electronic sounds. At times it felt like they were charming snakes with “wong” low sounds and house beats almost with an Arabic edge, other times like they were lifting us up to the stars on Aladdin’s flying carpet. A refreshing sip of musical fusion, twisting genres into one, and finishing with a psychedelic burst that could have easily come out of Star Wars.
Outside, the wind was raging like a gale. Passing again through Circle Sq, the buildings rumbled with heavy-hitting sounds that caught me for a good while, distracting me from my next destination. I ended up lost in the shops and dancing my heart out to the set that Astral Elevador DJs was pulling out of their sleeve—(amazing raving sounds). Friends were gathered there, having fun, dancing to tracks from Can, Modern Lovers, The Superimposers, Figure 5… I was completely absorbed, dancing track after track, and the time for my next gig slipped away—but I didn’t care anymore. What mattered was enjoying the surprises the city had to offer.
I headed back to YES, where 8MHC was still working his fingers on the decks in a very busy buzzing room. They had extended their set because Crocodile Band (who were now scheduled to play a DJ set) hadn’t yet recovered from their earlier concert at the skate park. After a while, they appeared, clad in leopard prints and retro shoes, dropping their opening track, “Man Made of Meat.”
After a while I flew over to FAC 251 to enjoy the show of Mandrake Handshake, who kept the room completely packed for the whole session. There wasn’t much circulation of people and the crowd was deeply engaged, fixated in their spots until the very end, their heads all clustered together to catch a glimpse of this seven-piece who never stopped moving, dancing, and putting on a show full of positive energy. Their sound was swaggy, like bubbly rock with flashes of animated ballads, led by an angelic voice—soft yet raspy, deep yet high, all elegantly woven into one single song, repeated during the whole performance. Dressed eccentrically, each in their own style, we saw a sexy singer in white, and a tall ginger-haired percussionist in a red jumpsuit, towering over the stage and dancing as if creating a ritual. The theater lit up, and the audience grew restless, eager. A powerful guitar riff, delivered by a sailor stationed to the left of the stage, rumbled at just the right moment. The singer’s raw voice carried as much weight as the percussionist’s choreographed ritual—towards the end, the two formed sculptural, expressive figures, while the bassist, in a green poncho with an indigenous flair, danced across the stage. The crowd exploded into ovation before the final goodbye. The band had fused with the cracked cement floor, a space shaped by generations of youth who dance daily in this historic venue.
Outside, the sky was pouring, and I was running, feeling the rage of the gods. At The Academy, LSD and the Search for God were blasting a bubble of magic into the souls of the audience. The volume was so high it was impossible to escape the infinite layers of celestial synths, waves travelling through our veins. Another band worthy of my caressing playlist. Many people, surprisingly, slipped out a couple of songs before the end, heading to the other Academy to catch Goat. By the close of the set, the music raged like a dream transforming into a monster walking on a river. Flourishing synths unraveled slowly as the venue emptied.
All hyped up, I ran to Academy 1, excited to see Goat and meet some friends. The room was massive and absolutely crammed, as the headliner of the day rose onstage with horns and wild, ethnic monster costumes. Savage and tribal, the two singers spent a good hour and a half dancing, shaking instruments in the air. Golden and red lights washed over the crowd, everyone packed in like sardines. Heads moved in unison through the entire set, the room fizzing with energy, voices rising with the devils onstage. The performance was brilliant, both musically and visually, even if the setlist began to feel a little repetitive toward the end—variations of the same endless psychedelic mantra.
I couldn’t wait for the next show, though smashed and tired from all the adventures. We took a pit stop to talk over the night and share a relaxing beer. YIN YIN were getting ready at Academy 2—a band I’d never heard of, but they blew me away and kept us dancing through the whole gig. Their music, with tentacled riffs, stretched into alien rock that was irresistibly danceable, with touches of salsa and Latin sounds at times. I could feel the influence of ’70s disco, and flavors of Japan. We were dancing from the first second. T-shirts raised into the air while the singer melted on the floor, rasping “it’s never too late.” We were all locked into his energetic, dancey performance. Then they played a new tune, and frontman Remy Scheren bounced like a rascal, playing bass and pouting. The guitarist, with long, curly blond hair, danced and swung his head, painting patterns in the air with his mane. Tireless, they offered a spectrum of styles, each track spiced with its own authentic rhythm. Simple yet striking projections accompanied them on a trip of fluid transformations—drops turning into eyes, expanding into dotted galaxies, melting into triangles, rectangles, mountains, colors… Most of the audience cheered with arms raised against a backdrop of red light—pure poetry for the eyes. We remarked on how great the drummer sounded, and the band left him alone on stage for a solo that sent chills down my spine—the best drum solo I got to see that day. Peeking from backstage, the rest of the band enjoyed this whirlwind of kicks and cymbals before bursting back to deliver the last two songs. Guitars tangled, the bass thundered, the vibration was so high we all roared in ovation before the final note. Applause, whistles and countless “woo!” They left us with a sweet aftertaste. I had spent the last of my energy on these magical creatures, dressed like peasants. They absolutely killed it and kept us there until the end.
Elsewhere in the city, music still carried on. The last bands played their shows at The Deaf Institute, while the final queue of people ended up at YES, dancing until 4 AM. Sadly, my inner fuel was drained. Around 12:30 I headed home, realizing I had forgotten to eat—but still fully satisfied after a whole day of musical adventures and discoveries.
Music Chronicles 