Posts Tagged ‘Rave til Dawn’

Was Nyjah’s Rave the Most 1990s Thing So Far This Summer?

August 5, 2017

Who killed not only Tupac, but Biggie, Big L and nearly shot Harlem crooner Keith Sweat over a girl? What did Tupac tell Nas after dissing him on camera in Bryant Park, what made Beanie Siegel blast a cop in Philadelphia, who did Madonna secretly set up to the feds, and what did Big Punisher look like when he was skinny? It’s all revealed in an engrossing Twitter ramble archived here detailing the most celebrated rap goons of the 1990s, who they beefed with, who they bankrolled and their deepest desires. This series of anonymous Twitter tweets rapidly has become required reading not just for rap music CD owners ‘of a certain age,’ but also many starry-eyed wonderers and would-be corporate climbers unafraid of plush jumpsuits and going upside a rival’s head with a bottle of champagne in the club. It was a decade of power and song, when Bill Clinton ruled from sea to sea, riches poured from freshly manufactured Internet computers, and bus-sized crocodiles wallowed in their own filth before stalking platinum-selling country music artists across the Great American West.

Truly, the 1990s is in again full swing. Last week Aesthetics and Elwood impresario Sal Barbier delivered a lengthy dissertation on shoe designerism and dreams of speed metal guitar wizardry amid Plan B’s mystical formation and Sole Tech’s triple cell division. DC affiliates John Shanahan and Josh Kalis have been hyping with Stevie Williams a Droors revival and around box-canyon campfires, whispers of an OG Lynx reissue. Living tributes to the decade’s virility now run the gamut, from the Flexfitted cut-and-sew of the latter years to the flapping cotton of the goofy boy era.

The title of 1990s grand master can ultimately be decided solely by a gory, wig-ripping battle royale set atop a mountain peak. But all of these recent activities overlook the most powerful recent entry that is an actual rave hosted by repeated contest winner Nyjah Houston, dripping with sports cars, autotuned lyrics, complaining neighbors, and Life Extention apparel. Webster’s dictionary defines a rave as an event containing techno music, DJs, dancing, garish outfits, sunglasses and positive vibes, and so it is obvious that Nyjah’s daytime soiree meets the classical definition of a Rave.

Raves were an important square in the cultural crazy quilt that was the 1990s. Ravers were lovingly tweaked via Fuct clothing while providing future inspiration for future lines of meticulously designed T-shirts. For many, these ‘techno campouts’ represented the future promise of endless possibilities and potential — much like Nyjah’s rave video:

“I remember reading a quote from Steve Albini in which he said that a thousand people standing in a field listening to electronic music and high on Ecstasy aren’t going to change the world,” Orrall says. “And I disagreed with him.”

Can a well-attended patio party, unmolested by cops, change the world or at least crown the summertime king of ’90s shit? After exhausting early 1990s fashion tropes is the next logical move to unearth Christian Hosoi’s spandex dabblings, or did the girl jeans period already effectively achieve this? Has a common love of raving united Ty Evans with Nyjah Houston to reclaim the glory of the ‘Feedback’/’Modus’ TWS vids? Do you think Nyjah will get a face tattoo?

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Vicious cycle

July 29, 2008


He’s probably not too excited about Diamond either

There’s nothing like a good Jason Dill interview really. He’s frequently semi-coherent, names names and talks shit freely, and he seems to have a really good memory in spite of how much drugs he’s supposed to have done. I was thinking the other day actually how it’s been a while since Dill shot his mouth off and lo and behold, Don Pendleton talked to him for a feature at Black Lodges, a webzine/online artist collective of sorts that features a blog by Eric Stricker, presumably moonlighting from TWS message board supervision.

Most of the interview involves Dill waxing Dillish on Polaroids, his grandma’s photo albums and being vaguely heartbroken, but at one point Pendleton gets him going on the topic of streetwear and his own streetwear company Fucking Awesome. Then the cantankerous Dill materializes, nursing a serious case of seller’s remorse:

Yes, I am a cynical fuck. I can’t stand the brands that are out here. That’s why I killed my brand for a while. But every time I try to kill Fucking Awesome, I end up bringing it back and people are asking for more. I can’t stand these fucking brands. I can’t stand any of that streetwear horse shit anymore. I can’t believe I ever got into it. It is what it is, you know.

Like, I made a clothing company and I’ve got fucking skateboard rappers wearing it. And I’ve got Paris Hilton’s latest boyfriend wearing it on the E! Channel or whatever. I don’t want that. And people wearing it on the covers of their fucking lame albums. Fucking dumb. I hate everything.

Yeah, when I first did Fucking Awesome, it took off like a rocket. One day it was just our funny little thing and it was fun….we were selling it through Supreme and they helped me launch it and get it out there. I remember the guys at Supreme were like, ‘Enjoy yourself now because it’s going to suck eventually.’ And I was like, ‘It’s not gonna suck.’ But yeah, it really sucks now.

Certain of us could be like “well, what did you think would happen,” but we all know that accomplishes little besides maybe chalking up a couple internet snark points. But it reminded me of a similar hard-learned lesson learned about a decade ago by one of Dill’s bosses, Mike Hill, about not being able to choose your audience and seeing your baby co-opted by retards. From Sean Cliver’s “Disposable”:

The success of the alien graphics came gradually. It started out as a cult following but then developed into a trendy nightmare. People would tell me how our shirts were really popular with ravers. This was the last thing the Alien Workshop was about–a bunch of overly social people dancing to techno while dressed for year-round trick-or-treating–and it was quite devastating.

One day a shop account called and said Madonna had just been in their store and bought one of our shirts. He was all excited and thought we should be, too. I remember going berserk and screaming about why would they sell it to her, that they should have denied her. But you can’t control these things. It happens to bands all the time: the people who drove you away to the point of marking something yourself out of frustration end up your customers.

Addendum: the illustrious Police Informer also was on the Jason Dill wavelength this week.