The first morning of 2026 had barely opened its eyes when Taisei Fukumoto’s “Sexy Bombaye – Happy New Year ver.” came barreling into the world, not so much released as unleashed.
It didn’t slip into the year with quiet ceremony—it arrived like the kind of firework that goes off sideways, scattering sparks where no one expects them and making everyone laugh harder because of it. And maybe that’s why it felt instantly right. New Year’s Day can be heavy with expectations, yet here was Taisei, offering a beginning that refused to be solemn: chaotic, glittered-over, and strangely hopeful.
There’s something about the way he steps into the frame—carrying not just charm, but the glimmer of a disco‑dream deity wandering out of a kaleidoscope—too handsome for the nonsense he’s about to commit, yet perfectly in tune with the surreal world he’s summoning.
The video doesn’t simply rely on visual gags; it opens like a midnight comic panel where a ceiling light might shatter at any second to reveal a descending mirror ball, as if the bedroom itself were remembering that it can, at will, become a neon-lit dancefloor.
He plays the scene with the theatrical sensuality of someone half–idol, half–mythic party spirit, a figure stitched from glitter, rhythm, and a touch of camp spectacle. And through all that exaggeration, every perfume spritz, every shoulder shake, every unearned dramatic gaze becomes part of the joke delivered with full sincerity. The mysterious appearance of a hakama no one predicted only deepens the delightful absurdity.
He doesn’t treat that absurdity as a shield but as a language, letting silliness become a kind of shared oxygen between performer and audience. Even the fleeting kendama moment—a detail that could have been throwaway—lands with affection, as if he’s saying, “Yes, I’ve been practicing. Yes, I saved it for you.“
And maybe that’s the secret pulse beneath the chaos—a pulse borrowed from disco’s lineage of liberation, where rhythm has always been a way of escaping the ordinary.
The track itself leans into that heritage—disco as liberation, rhythm as permission—and even brushes against a lineage that feels almost Para‑Para adjacent, a disco‑funk cousin of Eurobeat that shares its flamboyance, its choreography‑ready repetitions, its unapologetic dance‑floor intent, but filters it all through a funkier groove and the warmth of idol‑pop performance. It’s a sound that knows exactly where it comes from and delights in exaggerating every contour of it: the thump of a four-on-the-floor beat, the sheen of synthetic strings, the grin of a bassline that feels halfway between a wink and a dare.
Taisei steps inside that sound fully, not just performing but embodying the kind of character who once belonged to dancehalls and mirrored rooms, a figure who dissolves logic until only play and desire remain. Yet he never hides behind the theatrics; he uses them to close the gap. Taisei doesn’t use humor to keep a distance; he uses it to draw people in. His unseriousness isn’t a contradiction but one of his deepest charms—he’s always carried the mantle of the “funny one,” and here that history blooms into something effortless, a warmth that makes his theatrics feel natural rather than performed, inviting everyone into a space where beauty and absurdity can coexist without apology.
He understands something essential about beginnings—how fragile they feel, how easily they buckle under pressure—and he answers that fragility with mischief, with warmth, with a wink that acknowledges both the mess and the possibility inside it.
That’s why this Happy New Year version feels less like a holiday gimmick and more like a celebration stitched from both satire and ceremony. The New Year dressing simply sharpens what the song has always carried at its core—an invitation to shake off whatever weight clings to the old year and step, laughing, into the next. It’s a musical ritual built on excess rather than restraint, a reminder that renewal can be glitter-drenched and heart-light.
Fans recognized it immediately—the way laughter can reset a year and the way an unexpected spark can become a compass pointing somewhere lighter. It feels, in its own chaotic way, like a blessing laid at the year’s threshold. It carries the emotional shorthand of New Year tradition: greetings, beginnings, that quiet moment when everyone breathes in at once. Yet he reshapes those symbols through joy rather than solemnity, turning chaos into a kind of lantern. Many had been waiting for this song to get an MV at all; that it arrived now, at the hinge of the year, made it feel like the universe had aligned itself for a punchline.
What emerges is a small but powerful truth: renewal doesn’t always arrive in silence. Sometimes it arrives shouting a catchphrase, draped in sequins, spinning a mirror ball like it’s lighting the path ahead. Taisei’s gift is in transforming bewilderment into belonging, letting the ridiculous become a bridge instead of a barrier. His fans step into the new year with him, not because the video is polished, but because it is alive—an exuberant, laughing pulse that turns a single MV into a shared emotional starting line, and it’s something so uniquely and iconic to Taisei.
If the year has to begin somewhere, beginning here feels almost charmed. In the glow of Taisei’s joyful chaos, 2026 doesn’t just start—it opens. And everywhere, people find themselves stepping forward with a little more brightness, a little more hope, and the echo of a chant that already feels like a promise. The new year has never started out more colorful than this.
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