Getting down with the Clowns – Insane Clown Posse concert
Insane Clown Posse has been building up their indie street cred. Either that or Jack White has been busy tearing his down. Both instances we’re filled with a warm tingling feeling inside though that could have been from them licking my asshole. Lately ICP got into my radar screen. On this blessed day I got down with the clowns.
With my notepad I wanted to observe their habits. How do ICP fans exist? Their parents, are they proud of their children like good parents? Do their parents help them put on clown makeup and purchase Faygo soda for the concert? How can ICP exist in reality? I see they exist for the sole purpose of being trolled. They are clowns, they make me laugh. Part of me wanted to ask the fans exactly how they came to enjoy this band. Do fans choose the band or does the band choose the fans?
None of this mattered as I came into the concert. Playing in the background before the concert were some deep cuts from King Tubby. I could be going about this all wrong. ICP fans were human beings. Who was I to needlessly criticize them for a poor life choice? My life revolves around music. Theirs does too. Both of us have a lot in common. Our biggest difference was I didn’t spend three hours in front of a mirror painstakingly putting on makeup only to have it washed off by large amounts of cheap soda.
A few other poets came ready to write extensively about the concert. Johnny Vulpine and the Pikachu he choose arrived promptly. We didn’t want to miss a thing. For ICP concerts are magical, mystical things. Looking around us, we couldn’t believe this was happening. No one had detected us as non-ICP fans yet. Each one of us checked the other’s makeup. We spent only an hour on the makeup.
Coming towards us were some ICP fans. Or so we thought. Actually they turned out to be there to look and mock ICP fans from up close. We laughed and hugged. Next to us was another group dressed in ridiculous outfits, ready to make fun of ICP fans. By now we were thoroughly confused.
Johnny, Pikachu and I went through the crowd searching for genuine ICP fans. Each person we met admitted to being there for ironic purposes exclusively. Did real ICP fans even exist? Finally it dawned on me: ICP fans didn’t exist. They were made up like Santa Claus or Belgium. Our parents made them up to tell us about when we were feeling down. Our parents wanted us to feel better about ourselves, and middle-aged people getting down with a couple of middle aged rappers who closely resembled a poor man’s KISS with no flow whatsoever seemed like the best way of doing that.
The concert began. ICP came out and laughed at how silly we were in our ridiculous garb. All of us felt confused, nearly violated, but we were hoping the music would be a joke as well. It was. We waited, standing, wondering what would happen now that we knew the entire ICP fan base consisted of people ironically liking the product.
Shaggy 2 Dope began joking with the audience, saying “I hope you are in the right place, this isn’t the improvised jazz ensemble “Instant Composers Pool”. A few people chuckled. That chuckling stopped as Slavoj Zizek appeared on stage to explain exactly what was going on, the reason for Insane Clown Posse’s existence and how it made us question our life. Zizek stated we place too much value on the ironic and asked us why we derive pleasure out of ironically enjoying anything. Crowd-surfing, he continued to confront our expectations of culture.
At the end of the concert fire hoses sprayed us with Faygo soda and we listened to one and a half ICP ‘songs’ to give the appearance to the casual outsider that we were indeed Juggalos, the word Juggalo deriving from the careful balance of the image and reality. ICP fans confound reality itself.