You know how in dystopian sci-fi films there's always a scene in a night club where a band in, like, shoulder pads with spikes on them and pierced nipples is singing the scary music of the future? Except it doesn't seem quite believable, right? Wait, they're not still going to be playing industrial techno horseshit a thousand years from now are they? Because if so, I want my time machine down payment back. Well, that's pretty much what going to see Die Antwoord is like, as I learned last night when they played in Boston.
I've been saying for almost a year now that they're just a novelty act, and probably won't stick around too long, even though their songs are catchy as bed bugs, and just as evil. I may have been wrong, because I stood there watching and dancing with my mouth open the entire time, and only partly because Yolandi is the hottest thing to happen to white trash since Sudafed and paint thinner. Maybe it was just a case of the massive dance floor boner I had going there and all the blood was washed out of my thinking hole, but...wait what am I talking about again? Um...
So here's their schtick: co-opting poor, shitty white culture, dressing up in goofy costumes, rapping over the top lyrics about sex and yelling the word ninja all the time. Wait, that sounds familiar.
Woops, sorry hipsters, you just got tricked into self-identifying as a juggalo. It feels kind of nice actually. Let the dumb run through you. Feel its power.
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9 comments:
whoop whoop
some immortal poetry comes to mind:
slice like a ninja cut like a razorblade. so fast other djs say damn. if rhyme was a drug i'd sell it by the gram.
wait, isn't this blog supposed to be about not liking stuff?
Sometimes you just have to let the shit flow wash over you in waves and appreciate the ride.
You get the free pass since you saw it for free, but $28 (CASH ONLY! because it's so underground) at Royale. It's like going to a show inside American Apparel leggings. Pretty sure it was included as part of tuition for incoming Emerson freshmen.
haha. Emerson.
Jesus Christ, $28? Well, I was spending $6 a pop for bottles of Busch Light poured into a plastic cup, so I suppose they got me in the long run anyhoo.
oof. nope.
Come on! This shit is gold. Golden turd, sure, but gold all the same.
no.
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