If you have these things, and the talent, you too can become an UNDERCOVER HIPSTER, and as I soon found out, sometimes hipsters can actually be fun. . .
Case #002: Die Fokken Antwoord
El Ray. Los Angeles, California.
A friend had gotten his hands on some Die Antwoord tickets, and invited me along, knowing a hipster element was rumored to be in attendance at the concert, owing in part to the general mystery surrounding Die Antwoord and the fact that Borgore was opening. It was a HARD event, which meant drugs would also be afoot, leading to the possibility of much hilarity, as drugs + hipsters = all kinds of stupid.
His girl came along as well, and for the sake of this--whatever this is--they'll be called Agent #1 and Agent #2.
When we arrived, Borgore could already be heard from the outside with the incredible boom of the bass. Kids were already being searched, women were already gutting their purses, and as we grew closer a security guard barked orders and a foul faced woman eyed us. She sat at a table all of her own, and on the table was a fish bowl full of contraband deemed unacceptable for the event. Upon further inspection I found it to be full of gum, yes gum. . . Felonious amounts of narcotics were slipping right on by, with much of it already inside, but the real menace--mean Ol' Wrigley was being singled out and confiscated by some wicked woman with an intense hatred for chewers that was unmatched even by the most wretched of school teachers. As we walked in, some smooth talker was trying to get away with bringing in some of his precious chew, and though I didn't see what came of his pleading, I imagined the security guard took a taser to him (the preferred tool when dealing with hippies, dopers, and apparently gum chewers.)
Agent #2 went off for a piss and Agent #1 and I headed for the bar. I got a beer, while Agent #1 got an Old Fashioned and something for Agent #2, I can't quite remember. Turning from the bar we looked upon a scene that was already an hour in the making. There were people dancing to Borgore, and people drinking, and lying about up against the walls, and making out, and talking, and looking high, and even some looking bored. It was easy to see why they made such a case about the gum outside; these swine were dirty and treated the place as if it were a trashcan, often throwing cups and all kinds of shit all over the floor. Wet spots dotted the carpet, from spilled drinks, or those hipsters who were not yet house trained (I'm not certain, and wasn't interested in finding out for sure.) I'm sure the dance floor was blemished too, but I couldn't really see it, the people were packed in like sardines--sweaty, stoned sardines.
There was nothing to do but feel hot and trapped as Borgore and his kind surrounded you with their fleshy bodies and his pushy music that actually shook you it was so loud and pushy. Talking was a stupid idea, but who comes to a concert to talk? We all sipped our drinks as Borgore did his thing, looking much like a puppeteer up there with his tables, controlling the crowd and making them do whatever he wanted. He could get them to say whatever he wanted to (and much of what he got them to say was quite sexual) and with his tables he controlled the music expertly (I suppose.) He even quieted them when he was done.
"What was that everyone was saying?" Agent #2 asked. "In that last song, what was everyone saying?"
"You be the two girls, she'll be the cup," I replied.
"What?"
"Yeah you heard him right. . . it was a shit reference." Agent 1 said. And then to me "Your favorite."
"I know." I said.
It was then between the lull in acts that I started spotting the hipsters. The first one didn't make it difficult, as he quite literally ran into me as he escaped the insanity of the dance floor. He wore no shirt and was dripping sweat, his eyes were glazed over, his pupils huge saucers in pools of milk. Another hipster just suddenly appeared, wearing a grand cowboy hat with a large feather in it. Maybe a peacocks feather. He may have been an apparition of some dead cowboy, I don't know, but the eeriness in the way he suddenly appeared and disappeared lead me to believe it would not be completely ridiculous to at least entertain the idea.
They closed in on us, in true hipster fashion. There was an unbelievable stench in the air, and little snippets of conversation that all came out stupid and awkward. There of course was the one old guy, too old to be at such a concert but for some reason way too into the rave scene and touching people to care. In time, we found a pair of hipsters right behind us, sprouted up as big as trees.
"So you know much about these Die Antwoord fellows?" One asked us. He looked like he could have once been athlete, had he not chosen to be so hopelessly hip.
"Nah, not really." Agent #1 said.
"No." Agent #2 said.
"Yeah we just heard about em." His friend also tall but with long hair said.
"We just go these tickets for free. We just came for a laugh. Their videos are crazy." Agent #1 said.
"Yeah, I hear they're pretty stupid." He said. He then made small talk at us where we were from, what we do (to which I replied 'astronaut') etc. and even hit on Agent #2 when Agent #1 and I went to refill our drinks before the next show.
Die Antwoord came out to cheers customary to any performance, though when the music started some people seemed quite confused. The E freaks knew just what to do, and bumped along with the beat while others stood awkwardly, sipping their drinks and looking like they were lost. I even saw one chick scratch her head and turn to a friend with this ugly look on her face, reminiscent of when beautiful people are asked to think. People were confused because for one, Ninja, the front man with 'gangsta skills on the mic' was doing his thing in nothing but a pair of boxers, and his favorite move was this hip gyration that makes his dick flop around visibly in his shorts. He was covered in home-made looking prison tattoos that said things like WISE and HOW CAN AN ANGEL BREAK MY HEART," and depictions of cartoon characters like Richie Rich and Casper, only his Casper had a massive boner and seemed to be stroking it. He also had these intense eyes that he had a way of making look even more intense when he furrowed his brow. Quite frankly he looked like he carried a switch blades on him and often cut people just because his favorite color was red.
His partner was Yo Landi Vi$$er, and she had this shrill voice and a bowl/mullet cut that was so atrocious it was actually kind of cool. She was up on the stage with Ninja, exuding all of this energy and constantly sticking her hands down her pants. Their DJ wore some strange Quasimodo mask, and they all seemed so alien.
On top of that, they were rapping in both English and Afrikaans in a strange mixture that would make any drug freak question his sobriety. I was not surprised when I looked around me and found so many confused, though after the first song they were greeted with customary plumes of marijuana smoke coming from somewhere up in the first row. The songs picked up, and so did the crowd. It got so bad we had to move to higher ground to get away from it all. The heat had risen in the room nearly 10 degrees, from all of the people crowding around looking to get a good shot of Yo Landi's ass. As we went off towards higher ground, I wasn't at all surprised to find the tall Red Wood Hipsters who had been priming themselves for a good laugh ten minutes earlier were now grooving to the music like it was the greatest thing they had ever heard.
From higher ground, naturally we could see the act much better, which consisted mostly of hip gyrations and Yo Landi bending over to show everyone her ass, reaching in her pants, or flipping the crowd off. They changed many costumes throughout their act, though Ninja kept wearing boxers, just different pairs for nearly every song. He also did a couple of rap freestyles, and taught the whole crowd some Afrikaans, something to the effect that 'your mom's pussy is in a fish paste jar.'
At one point I swear someone up in the front row of the crowd offered Ninja some Ecstasy, which he denied and simply laughed off. Yeah, silly hipster rave freaks. By this time I was plenty drunk, having gone to the bar numerous times to replenish my drink for eight dollars a hit. As drunkeness took hold, my legs began to weaken and the sweat began to flow. I worried my fake mustache would come off, but it did not. In need of some air I left Agent #1 and #2 to themselves and went to the back of the room, where people were more scarce. Finding a spot on the wall I took the scene in from afar and sipped my overpriced beer. . . I couldn't help catching snippets of conversation:
"Did I tell you that one story about that bitch?" This girl asked. She was talking to her friend, who seemed to be pinned to the corner by her. She did all the talking, her friend just did all the listening. "Oh man, like W - T - F. . . " She actually said W-T-F out loud, in a public place. . . Just spelled it out without any same. I laughed. "I was wearing my hot pink trench coat, and this bitch walks in wearing a fuchsia jacket!!! I mean we practically looked the same. . . "
I couldn't take it, and went back to Agent #1 and Agent #2, who inquired how was my 'breath of fresh air?' I told them they didn't want to know, and they believed me, having already heard many of my retarded stories.
Die Antwoord ended the show with an upbeat number called 'Super Evil.' They started it off by throwing water out on the crowd and spent the rest of the song either flipping off the crowd or staring at them menacingly. They thanked the crowd and left where they had first arrived on stage, to some small room behind the stage.
The people started leaving, funneling out through the front doors like so much water. Our drinks had long since been finished, and like everyone else will just dropped the empties out on the floor. It gave a certain look to the place like one of a disaster zone, complete with survivors shuffling away from the scene. One drunk girl managed to stagger right into me, this hipster chick with Buddy Holly glasses and heels. Why she felt the need to wear heels I don't quite know, though I assumed her time at the concert to be a perilous one from the number of people alone. I imagined she went home and promptly passed out, only to wake up in the morning and find her legs spotted with nothing but bruises.
"Did I tell you that one story about that bitch?" This girl asked. She was talking to her friend, who seemed to be pinned to the corner by her. She did all the talking, her friend just did all the listening. "Oh man, like W - T - F. . . " She actually said W-T-F out loud, in a public place. . . Just spelled it out without any same. I laughed. "I was wearing my hot pink trench coat, and this bitch walks in wearing a fuchsia jacket!!! I mean we practically looked the same. . . "
I couldn't take it, and went back to Agent #1 and Agent #2, who inquired how was my 'breath of fresh air?' I told them they didn't want to know, and they believed me, having already heard many of my retarded stories.
Die Antwoord ended the show with an upbeat number called 'Super Evil.' They started it off by throwing water out on the crowd and spent the rest of the song either flipping off the crowd or staring at them menacingly. They thanked the crowd and left where they had first arrived on stage, to some small room behind the stage.
The people started leaving, funneling out through the front doors like so much water. Our drinks had long since been finished, and like everyone else will just dropped the empties out on the floor. It gave a certain look to the place like one of a disaster zone, complete with survivors shuffling away from the scene. One drunk girl managed to stagger right into me, this hipster chick with Buddy Holly glasses and heels. Why she felt the need to wear heels I don't quite know, though I assumed her time at the concert to be a perilous one from the number of people alone. I imagined she went home and promptly passed out, only to wake up in the morning and find her legs spotted with nothing but bruises.
