BEYOND THE FAYGO: A BLATHERING ON THE GATHERING

Cave-In-Rock, IL. August 11th-14th, 2011.

When Steve Barman (of Steve Barman Show fame) openly invited a willing soul to document this years Gathering Of The Juggalos for Motorcityrocks, a really weird lightbulb lit up my brain. In an attempt to humanize this misunderstood subculture that finds itself at the butt of many jokes, I requested press passes and assembled a production crew in preparations for a story on this years Gathering for Motorcityrocks TV.

What sucks is that I broke my leg in two places in late June, leaving me unable to walk for the entirety of the summer. Not willing to risk further injury (I’m traveling in the fall), I’m deciding to craft this story over the next year, interviewing those who have been involved with Juggalo culture from its early days and documenting the events leading up to next years Gathering.

In my place, I sent a trustworthy crew down to this years Gathering to establish relationships with the Juggalo community. I told them to get around, check it out, meet people and conduct research via participant observation. Here is what they found.
-Nick George

***
Although I am only a neophyte when it comes to the music of the notorious Insane Clown Posse. Growing up in Berkley, MI, and frequenting hot topic stores notified me of the subculture known as the Juggalos, hardcore fanatics who follow ICP. This last weekend I had a unique opportunity to delve into their ways and practices during the twelfth annual Gathering of the Juggalos (G.O.T.J) that took place at Hogrock campground, located at Cave-In-Rock Park, IL, population 350. A place where founding ICP member Violent J lovingly referred to during a free cheeseburger and Faygo throw out as “literally and figuratively the middle of fucking nowhere”. My interest was not only in the group of die hard fans and their culture, but how the surrounding area of Cave-In-Rock responded to their Gathering.

We arrived the second night of the festival. sadly we missed some great acts. But arriving at night alleviated the fears of our four person crew, who worried we might not “pass” as Jugglos and that we’d be eaten, used in a sacrificial ritual involving Faygo, or perhaps something more sinister. If we were to trust that the average Juggalo were to possess subpar intelligence and actually live the violent and misogynistic lyrics of ICP, we wouldn’t have attended. Most of this groups lyrics explain macabre manifestations to be swallowed whole by their adoring masses. The song, “Imma Kill U” off Bang Boom Pow (2009), features the lyrics;

First, I smack your head with a bat
The bloody splat, crack with impact
Wind it back, whack your cheekbone
Stomp your nose in until it’s gone
Pick you back up and punch your gut
Double you over and fold you shut
Let you drop then invite the crew
To kick your face in too! (OOH!)

Easily enough to persuade any “mainstreamer” from such an endeavor, we endured still. But the people we met on this misadventure would drive us to stay the full festival and find out what Juggalo love really is. Whether we actually passed as Juggalos or if it was just the kindness of the Juggalo that protected us is still a mystery, but when we return next Gathering, we will not have to worry about passing; for this love is contagious and I don’t think one could attend this festival without noticing it.

It must be stated that every festival I’ve attended has had some level of violence and theft and this is not unlike any festival in that respect, but for the amount of misshapen miscreants who filled this muddy filthy space, there were no atrocious acts being publicly committed. Behind the bandannas, all the mud, Faygo grease, piles of ICP merch dangling off every limb, face paint, and through the glazed over drugged-out expressions of the fans, there was a soul which very much understood those around itself. The Juggalo mentality successfully creates a unique environment in which violent and novel lyrics about animal sacrifice and decapitation can exist along side a brotherhood that protects each of this group from outsiders who attempt to capitalize off their fandom.

In the town of Cave In Rock, 2 miles outside the festival and located in Kentucky, after eating at one of two restaurants called “Dutton’s cafe”, we met a stranger named Bo G, leaving the festival. Known as a Juggalo to us by his greeting, “Whoop Whoop”, he explained that he would be missing the last day of the festival for his, “girlfriend got stolen by a carnie”. Bo told us that his friends had screwed him leaving him without money to get back home. This was a story of many people inside, not that their girlfriends were stolen by carnies or that their friends had messed with their money, but that a lot of them were down and out. Many donned signs explaining their positions, and asking fellow “Ninjas”, another term for an ICP fan, to help them out. Despite the misery that may have been presented in their signs, the Juggalos had willingly come to this spot where they gathered like a Mecca.

Bo explained to us that he had purchased a ticket from a guy up the hill just outside the festival’s entrance at a discounted price, like many other fans, only to find that the ticket was fake. The Juggalos don’t take kindly to being ripped off. Many lyrics of ICP would suggest classism against “richies” like the pocket getting fat off their collective misfortune, and because most Juggalos don’t make that much money, the man selling the fake tickets had all the windows of his car smashed. Bo mentioned he may have gotten “the shit kicked out of him”. The restorers of Juggalo justice got their money back. Unfortunately, our friend had missed the beat down, and had no money, but was rewarded with a free weekend pass for bringing this matter to the attention of “Hogdaddy”. Hogdaddy is the owner of the property the fest takes place on for the last 3 years. He patrolled the grounds weekend long on a golf cart making good will missions to his guests.

During this festival, many chants and rituals included the word, “Family”. Now, when you see a bunch of criminal looking characters, a few who may have actually killed someone, shouting en masse, “FAM-I-LY! FAM-I-LY! FAM-I-LY!”, it’s hard not to think about Charles Manson’s family. But this family works a lot harder than Manson, bringing peace to this “earf” with the gathering. I asked a Juggalo named Joe who hailed from Grand Rapids, Michigan, when he asked us to sign his couch, who the mother was of this family, knowing that the father position would be given to ICP. He responded that he had never thought of it by miming a shotgun to his head and an explosion. Surprisingly we met a vegetarian who sold us 3 hot dogs and a veggie burger all for $2, which beats the one cheeseburger you could get for $8. This vegetarian told us that, “A mother gives a person a place and a time to live (…) the mother of the Gathering family would have to be Hogdaddy for letting this event go down”. Who would guess a grateful Juggalo? Judging by the way most of these outsiders are publicly portrayed we wouldn’t ascribe “grateful” to such characters, but this vegetarians feelings resounded throughout the actions and expressions of all Juggalos who had “MCL” and “MMFCL” (that’s Much Clown Love, and Much Mother Fucking Clown Love, respectively) for their “Hogdaddy”.

But how does the community of locals around this festival respond to 15,000 people flooding their towns? A community center in Elizabethtown which is one of the only cities nearby, located 11 miles away from the fest, surprisingly welcomed the Gatherings members who had visited the city in previous years. Chris, a welcoming man from one of those rock and roll jesus type of small churches, invited us inside his small townhouse chapel for free food, water, and Faygo. Not the prothelytizing type at all, Chris told us that he had realized in the past how lots of the Gathering’s Juggalos who had strayed from their flock to search for cheaper food in his town before, expressed traits of the poor. As many must who sport torn dirty ICP shirts and faces full of confusion, frustration, and a little iddy bitty little drip of psycho. He told us to tell anyone inside the fest that he would be giving out free food all day for the next two days. This inspiring character was not alone praying for us while we were inside.

In the town of Cave In Rock Kentucky, at the Dutton Cafe, owner Betty tells us that she likes the festival. “It brings in a lot of business. This year’s a lot better than last.” Betty says. When asked why other people in the town might not like the festival, as there were a few closed businesses for the festival, Betty responded, “They’re old fashioned in their ways. They don’t understand it”.

The misunderstanding of the Juggalo is quite common. Most have found themselves a victim of some sort of violence and they have been brought together by violent lyrics that seek retribution. Whether or not they will admit it, in ICP’s lyrics, when they talk of violence and ill natured darkness, it comes from a place of trying to empower themselves and their fans from such events to which they may have been victim. An example for violence as a retribution is illustrated in the continuation of the “Imma kill u”, “Bang Pow Boom” verse started previously in this report;

“Racist bigot, you dirty demon (No!)
Dig your eyes out while you screaming
Drive your head into the concrete
Use your forehead to paint the street
Child abusing piece of crap
A couple knee drops across your back
Rip your pants down for the cause
Take two bricks and clap your balls!”

The Gathering did not bring harm to anyone who was “down with the clown”. Although the police presence outside the Gathering was immense, stopping every car that entered the Gathering, the feeling inside among concert goers was sheer bliss. There is no place in the world like the Gathering. If you are not a coulrophobe, and if you really like Faygo, I would recommend you check it out.

Tagged Gathering of the juggalos, ICP, Juggalos