Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: Simone Klimmeck
Lovely brunches. Hard bass. Sweat-soaked bodies and discovering that the new Destiny’s Child mixes nicely into Fad Gadget. That’s what memorable weekends are made of, especially when preluded by the time-absorbing Berlin Fashion Week. Well, tell a bit of a lie: I only went to two shows before my giant foam FASHION! finger was confiscated, then left to get Mexican food and hang out at my friend Campbell’s shop Darklands. The best thing I saw came off the internet (naturally), via the always-on-point Zana Bayne. Just when the influx of fashion harnesses was getting OD, Zana brought out her amazing new collection and once again blew everything else out of the water. Leather flog garters. Clear vinyl headpieces. I’m won. I also saw the fucking Hobbit and I’m pretty certain it was written by the ghosts of the Three Stooges.
Fashion Week was good for one thing, at least—making connections. I’ll soon be hawking a new line of style candybars: Dries Van Nuttin, Karl Lagerfruits, and of course Ann Demueslimeester. Couldn’t think of anything funny to say about Rick Owens, but he’s pretty ripped and I kind of don’t want to anger his buff arms. You the man, Rick, even if I prefer your arch-nemesis Damir Doma. Draped myself in his lovely pieces, then had a dream I was the Cool DJ at the Big Party. Woke up and I was actually mid-DJ set repping this Just Blaze/Baauer collab. You gotta be careful when people hand you stuff sometimes. I also keep getting my butt grabbed in my dreams; just another reason why reality is the inferior format.
As far as editorials go, I’ve seen a few nice ones lately. Katie Eary‘s new digital print line is fairly sick, a sort of floral vampiric power-mom style. I also love the styling for Greta Ilieva’s Under The Influence magazine shoot. Where on earth does one get a hyena jacket? Carrion predators are so chic. As usual, however, I’ve eschewed most fashion coverage in favor of solitude and mixing equipment, compiling sound revisions for my CTM showcase. Soulja Boy spins into a flock of shattered choirs, the voice of Azealia Banks refracts off binaural beats with 10x echo, and powernoise R&B is Forever 21. Genre Jesus will be in agony until the end of the set. There must be no resting in the meantime.
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