1 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
2 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
3 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
4 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
5 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
6 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
7 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
8 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
9 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
10 of 17
11 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
12 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
13 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
14 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
15 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
16 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
17 of 17
Photograph by Thomas Crone
With the evening’s inspirational act, the Insane Clown Posse, only weeks removed from a visit to the same venue, Pop’s Concert Venue drew a solid house of attendees to the Juggalo X-Mas Bash this past weekend, after a slower outing in 2013. As with previous events, the evening was split between groups with local roots and touring acts and this year’s lineup proved strong enough to bring a couple hundred juggalos and juggalettes out to Sauget for a night of family-style communing and musical fellowship; many a full-throated exhortation of “woop-woop,” came from the crowd.
As with most acts directly or spiritually affiliated with ICP’s Psychopathic Records, the acts featured Saturday (including headliners Big Hoodoo, Boondox and ABK) shared certain traits. Performers, whether solo or two-to-three-man groups, feature neither live instrumentation on onstage DJs. This bare-bones approach allows acts to cycle across the stage at a pretty rapid clip over the evening, generally playing sets in the neighborhood of 20 minutes, with slightly lengthened playlists as the evening goes on. (An amateur music historian might equate these shows to the old rock ’n’ roll revues of the ‘50s and ‘60s, with the old-timers’ shared backing bands now replaced by mp3 files. In both cases, though, it’s vocalists who are both front and center and quickly shuffled on and off the stage.)
Lyrically, certain themes reveal themselves over the course of an evening, the acts’ hip-hop variations firmly embracing the sub-niche of horrorcore, featuring intensely graphic imagery. Though not universal, among the popular themes exhibited on Saturday night: loyalty to the ICP family aesthetic; gun-, knife- and hatchet-play; revenge fantasies against oppressors and haters; avid fandom of cannabis; glorified boasts of sexual prowess, coupled with an aggressively stated brand of enjoyment towards certain, specific carnal pleasures; frequent name-checks of ICP and other Psychopathic acts; and statements of devotion to the soda brand Faygo, all delivered in the sing-songy, spoken word form of lyrical poetry known as “rapping.”
While actual Faygo is liberally sprayed about at actual ICP shows, the event at Pop’s this weekend only featured Faygos still-bottled, given away as attendance prizes at the end of the evening. That’s right, it was a holiday show! As with any X-Mas-themed event, there was a degree of festivity involved; in this event’s case, Jolly St. Nick himself showed up during the latter stages of the evening, distributing gifts to the audience from his own, oversized sack of swag.
By the time that Santa hit the stage during ABK’s headlining set, the evening’s emotions were cresting, the attendees had bounced between the show and the smoking corral a half-dozen times, braving torrential downpours with each visit. Outside the club, at the conclusion of the night’s show, just past midnight and with the rains abating… well, it was time the reflect on the Five People We Met (Well, Observed) at the Juggalo X-Mas Bash. Woop-woop!
They Who Paint: This is a group designation, for sure. About 10 to 15 percent of the crowd at the X-Mas Bash was face-painted, in a variety of styles, from straight-up terror clown to downright spooky monk. As the evening wore on, some were hesitant to be photographed. In one case, a fella who’d clearly spent some time on his de facto face deferred posing for a photo: “You should’ve caught me hours ago, I’m totally losing my paint.” Fair enough. Next time, you scary, scary man.
The Kids: Let’s say that the lyrical approaches of Friday’s acts were, um, mature. NC-17. Sometimes, edging into X-ratings. I don’t usually feel like Mike Huckabee, but watching kids in that kinda setting, well, it makes you think, though it’s always nice to see parents sharing the love of music with their children. One kid, though, was an upbeat marvel. Maybe 9 years old and clutching an oversized can of Monster Energy drink, he zipped through without a care in world, even edging near the lip of the mosh pit. At one point, he leaned up and over the edge of the pool table, and pushed a few balls into a corner pocket. We met eyes and I can say with medical certainty that no band onstage that evening had more energy than that boy at that second. Ten minutes later, he was asleep at a table, a little angel snoozing through the Boondox set, bless his tiny heart.
The Dazed and Confused: Have a feeling that some members of the audience had enjoyed their pre-show prep time. A few members of the audience smelled as if they’d spent the fall working on the Jamaican hillsides, bringing in the harvest of nature’s finest medicinal crops. At these moments, not only were the eyes and ears engaged in the show, all the senses were on high alert. The sweet fragrances of a big club show!
Speaking of Which, Big-Ups to The Security Force: No group of people in St. Louis more richly deserve their every earned penny than the Pop’s courtesy patrol. They’re the best, seriously. The. Best. Coolers. Around. Because of the folks they see daily, like...
The Poor Sap Who Dropped His Sandwich: There’s nothing specifically juggalo-related to being hungry at the end of a hip-hop show. At Pop’s, there’s not only music and booze and camaraderie to fuel your late-night appetite, there’s an all-night food truck called the Philly Wagon there to sate you. (Incidentally, it’s available for private party catering. Hey!) If you’ve spent any time at Pop’s (and pity those of you who haven’t, it’s the finest people-watching anywhere in the bi-state), you know that the Philly Wagon gets all kinds of customers. On Friday, though, something happened that I couldn’t imagine, under any set of expectations that I’ve ever had about the human need for food. A young fella was leaning on a post, just on the edge of the covered front patio, cradling some sort of beef sandwich in a paper serving boat. At some point, the sandwich hit the deck. About five inches from the trash can. He looked outward briefly, a man defeated. Rallying, though, he picked up the sandwich, now open-faced, reconstructed it in his little serving boat and munched his way through the rest of the meal. To repeat: this young juggalo dropped his sandwich on the ground next to a trash can on the wet pavement of the Pop’s patio and he didn’t let the experience ruin his mealtime. Salute, my brotha, you’ve given me the kind of memory that last a lifetime. Long after the other memories of the 2014 Juggalo X-Mas fade from memory, yours will remain, lasting and true.
Postscript: I really do love the X-Mas. Outside of Festivus, it’s my favorite holiday every December. Can’t wait ‘til next year. Woop-woop!
