Insane Clown Posse at The Rave/Eagles Ballroom
Just as the Ultimate Warrior didn’t really wrestle, Insane Clown Posse doesn’t quite make music. What Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope offer instead is “music-entertainment,” similar to how pro wrestling is considered “sports-entertainment.” The music is basically just an excuse to sell a whole lot of crap to angsty, ants-burning teenagers. Laugh if you want, but it’s turned two high school dropouts into self-made millionaires, thanks to nearly 20 years of clever marketing of their numbingly stupid clown gimmick.
At ICP’s show Friday at The Rave/Eagles Ballroom, the duo’s merch booth was five times bigger than any of opening acts, loaded with shirts, shoes, hockey jerseys, CDs, hats, underwear, and even a massive autobiography written by Violent J called Behind The Paint. The few Juggalos that weren’t decked out in ICP gear made sure to wear shirts from other ICP-approved artists from its label Psychopathic Records. The Juggalo groupthink was so overwhelming that even head-scratching opener Coolio got into the act, declaring, “Bitch, I’m a Juggalo,” to a massive roar of applause.
Maybe he really is a Juggalo, because nobody seemed to mind that the veteran gangsta-rapper was constantly out of breath and virtually inaudible amid a large group of overactive hype-men. Once Coolio identified himself as a friend to the Juggalos, he owned the crowd. He later dedicated his 1997 gangsta-ballad “C U When U Get There” to “all the Juggalos that couldn’t make it to live for another day,” prompting a sea of raised lighters. It was as if Violent J had sat him down before the show and said, “Look Coolio, here are some talking points you can use to win over our fans without being any good at all.”
After Coolio’s oafish set, attention turned toward a fat guy standing in the soundbooth wearing giant goggles and a lab coat “It’s time for the ‘Chop Chop Slide!'” he announced. According to a Juggalo standing next to me, the “Chop Chop Slide” is apparently some kind of dance-off that’s held at every ICP show. It sounded great, except I was distracted by a kid standing nearby in a “Fuck Life” T-shirt and bondage pants, who looked on as three Juggalos took turns head-butting each other. Say what you want about the music, but the people-watching at an ICP show is fantastic.
After a grueling and lengthy set from stoner-rap outfit Kottonmouth Kings, ICP finally took the stage to an eardrum-shattering roar of “woop woops” and other signs of Juggalo approval. Introduced as “the world’s most hated band,” J and 2 Dope came out dressed in oversized vests and shorts alongside six goons in sparkling gold jumpsuits and clown masks. As ICP worked through a set of tunes about serial killing (“Dead Body Man”), sex with overweight women (“Hokus Pokus”), and rednecks (“Chicken Huntin’”), the band used its “most hated” status to make martyrs out of its fans with heaps of “us against them” drivel. “It’s not easy being a Juggalo, you catch a lot of shit for being a Juggalo, but we do this for the fucking Juggalos,” J howled.
What is the “this” that ICP does for the Juggalos? Well, it involves opening a lot of bottles of Faygo soda and spraying, pouring, throwing, and dropkicking them into the crowd. When 2 Dope and J weren’t doing this, the stage-goons were. In fact, there were a few moments where all six of them brought big buckets full of Faygo out and just emptied them out on the first few rows. There were also two giant squirt cannons spraying soda on either side of the stage and a couple of squirt pumps. For all of ICP’s badass posturing, its stage act sure owes a lot to Gallagher.
Musically, ICP’s rapping had little flow, coming out in honks and screams that were often overpowered by Juggalos screaming along to every last word. J tried his hand at singing on a couple of songs, but the results sounded like nauseated groans. When the duo finally reached the end of its set, ICP called out its road crew and the opening acts to the stage to help unload all of the remaining Faygo unto the crowd. In the center of all this, Violent J stood front and center with his young son—also painted up like a clown—on his shoulders, occasionally giving his microphone to his tyke for singing along. Who said this shit wasn’t heartwarming?
