January 10, 2014 by vinylburns
Happy New Year, Binitches.
I spent New Years Eve in the lush enveloping valleys, bays and beaches of the Coromandel peninsular, DJing at the Prana Fire Poi and Incense Festival. I was invited there as part of the World Class Sausage Circus Sound System Party-Fun Good-Times Gang… Called upon for my precision DJ Selektor instinct and for my honed sense of delicious fun and devilicious good looks. It’s an exciting life I lead, so it will come as no surprise to my followers that within 5 minutes of arriving at the festival site, I participated in a cross country, off road, high speed car chase with the police, literally, in hot pursuit, and me swinging from the back of a rusted out Ute, as branches of native flora and fauna bounced off my toned athletic body. The whole adventure felt reminiscent of a mid 80’s New Zealand Toyota Hilux commercial… Madman Barry Crump chauffeuring the Terrified Lloyd Scott through the Kiwi jungles.
The details of MY car chase are unimportant, but it did involve an abducted, or at least surprisingly located, young boy, some mass deputisation of stoners, and a reimplimentation of civilian merchandise… all with a happy outcome.
The festival itself featured all the usual festival business… Stages, bands, MCs, food tents, non-food tents, drugs, fake drugs, legit drugs, underground drugs, underground legit drugs, fake underground drugs, legit food, legit underground food… And so on. We played two sets, initially featuring Hilda Hotcakes, the imprisoned burlesque geriatric Cougar-Milf, empowered by sexy lady’s elbow-grease out the back, and a Germexicanglo Sexonic spruiker, hustling in the punters. I span a few tunes and casually whipped 1700 hippies into their equivalent of a psycho-frenzy. Then we played games, and rigged them so the children couldn’t win. Jammy Twister. Butter Pudding Tug-O-War Fashion Catwalk Boxing Long Distance Egg Transfer Blind Shotput …What fun. The two star toilet facilities had become a venue for print propaganda for the myriad of workshops, seminars and sex classes available at the festival. One in particular caught the eye of our posse. Lady Sarah… A space lady with a connection to the Light Jesus “Kryon” held a two hour workshop. We went.
It was amazing.
She told us that she was dancing and suddenly a explosion of starlight bursting into her. That We are light and are realigning to our star origin with our DNA Galactically, she is well known, so she sees us… She’s a devine engineer AND a devine plumber And that now we’re all underwater, and there are mermaids. She said to think of UFO’s and airplanes and stuff like that… Because we are all in the Galactic Federation. I asked if I could be Orac, but she pretended to have a phone call. The festival rolled on, with plenty of smooth moves… I was Topless in the ocean, pant-less in the teepee… I played a final exclusive DJ set for our private 6 person Sausage wrap party… I set myself up just beside the pool, in our dome, while the gang BBQ’d and sipped, just outside in the evening sun. In a perfect move of full circle closure, the cosmos sent me a hemp bow to wrap up my Prana-esque experience. Having began my festival four days earlier, being thrown immediately into Lloyd Scott’s character role of “Scotty” in that classic slice of New Zealand Television advertising, it seemed a sublime fit that, on the last night, as we wandered through the campsite, suffering from a subtle, but very real miscalculation in alcohol provisioning, that our hardest partier, Madam Shevayvay, yelled into the blackness “Does anybody have any booze!!!???”. Just moments later, a young lady mystically appeared from her 1986 Toyota Hilux, clutching a couple of bottles of her family recipe home-brew. “Here yooos go… It’s my Granddad’s secret recipe… You guys wanna boogie?? I wanna dance!!! Let’s go party!!!” We headed for the main festival zone… But she soon ditched us, vanishing at the first hint of a fire circle and dance tent full of environmental gansta’s and part time clowns… But as she faded into the smoke, we each took a swig from the bottle of “Barry’s Brew”, silently understanding her arrival, her presence, and her subsequent departure to shake her thang… I like the disco… I respect the bump’n’grind I can do the twist and get lose to the Watusi But sometimes… Sometimes, you just have to Crump.