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. Photos by Daniel Jones & friends.
Read part I here.
“Do yOu like bl00d?” seems to be the phrase of the evening. I’m in Columbus, OH with my UnReaL brothers. We’re all screaming at the top of our lungs and playing our favored flavors of loud, grime-y music. We went to a fetish store beforehand to buy DJ outfits and laughed because they sold Halloween decorations as well. We wore the pig mask that says I’M A DIRTY DAWG because we’re all flirty hawgs. Real pancakes. Tarot exhibitions. Mom hugs. The fountain from Married With Children and the house from Full House were both added to our list of World Wonders, Spotted. This has been a good tour.
Being back in the USA—especially the bigger cities—has been a mixed bag of privilege. On the one hand, you have access to some of the best food, fashion, drugs, hugs, cool-looking bugs, and aggressively friendly people the world has to offer. On the other hand, because there is no other place in the world like America’s vast and varied landscape (no matter how much misguided expats try to transform Berlin), it’s easy to get overwhelmed quickly—particularly when you’ve grown used to the calmer, more insular climates of Germany, as I have.
At most restaurants not in Brooklyn, people will not only smile at you, they’ll tell you their name and provide you with reliable customer service. I’d forgotten about that, and found it extremely off-putting at first. By the time we’d worked our way to Chicago, I’d grown comfortable enough to sit in a restaurant like a real American: extremely on weed and so vascular from hanging out with noted healthgoth Deathface that I had to have my rigid fucking body cleaned by smaller, lower-caste parasites. You don’t always chose the life you lead.
We’re in Los Angeles now, our final stop before returning to Europe. From the rooftop of The Standard, I mix Death Grips in Neubauten into Atari Teenage Riot for the LIL DEATH crowd, all while nervously eyeing the swimming pool. There are no rude teen lifeguards here with unconstitutional detection dyes.
The night before, I’d seen Demdike Stare in a masonic lodge in a Hollywood cemetery. The harsh rhythms pushed something inside me—the perfect introductory drug for this apocalypse of heat, splitting open my heart of palm. LA is where all the weirdness I kept bottled inside me during this tour came out. Murky, unsettling Bush remixes got played in Torrance’s LA Substance. A live edit of Coil’s “Broccoli” mixed with Adam Sandler’s “Choppin’ Broccoli” emerged over a Funktion One, pre-blessed with the baroque beauty of Lauren Bousfield and the industrial pop of Metal Mother. Pizza became the dance accessory of choice. I’m not sure how most DJs tour, though I know two who ride in those big buses, which is fucked (environment, bus toilet). My recommendation? Do it while extremely happy.
Final Conclusion: I’d buy this if the hood actually had a screenprint of this guy’s face. Extra points for the use of the word ‘malodorous’.