What are we doing? August 24th, 2010 this page in English Yesterday I finally got to bow, to the Ninja. See, I came to thank him, Yo-Landi Vi$$er and DJ Vuilgeboost (and in so doing, by default, DJ Hi-Tek too) for the hope and joy they brought me since this year's February. Hope, that people who dare and do can change the world. That all of us haven't become too bad for that. That evil hasn't overcome all good. And joy, through this music. Beautiful music. Music that touches, moves and entrances me. To the bone. So not everyone will feel that way - but I don't fucking care! I do and so did last night. At last, I could holler "YOUR life is like a videogame!" and "Yeah fokken WHO said SO?!" at Ninja, and "You fuck with Die Antwoord, you fuck with the army!" and "Kyle's mama is a big fat bitch!" at Yo-Landi. I pitied some of the people in the queue outside who, in typical Dutch, rotten rainy weather, had dressed in Ninja's trademark Pink Floyd 'Dark side of the moon' boxershorts (with only trainers or, worse, black cowboy boots below). That was as grotesque as the one girl wearing Yo-Landi's just so trademark spandex gold slacks. Get a life, or, better yet, a proper ass! But I was impressed with the real Zef people there. With weird selfmade glamjackets, nosepiercings and outlandish haircuts that are no disguise, but daily do. Wonderful. Wonderful also, apart from the amount of attendees (certainly no more than 400), was the thereby still soldout venue: it's not named Trouw for nothing, since it occupies the space where the printing presses of the Perscombinatie used to be, in the building along Wibautstraat on which large lettering still says 'Trouw'). And that Perscombinatie is my former employer, so all of this is rooted in all kinds of wild memories from my early Amsterdam University student days. Nighttime sex against a wall out there, and all. The hall it is now resembles the old Patronaat - without the balcony: splendidly surveyable, intimate and utterly cool. Moving: the microphone incident. Ninja, at the start of '$copie', stops the show and proves Yo-Landi's mike's not working, by taking turns talking through his and hers. This, of course, cannot be blamed on the mike (Yo-Landi recently received a signature wireless AKG): it's just badly mixed. Ninja hassles the engineer until things improve, yet still aren't perfect, then passes the mike back to Yo-Landi, with a disarmingly apologetic shrug of the shoulders: "Are you ready for this?". THAT's 'protection'. Sweet! Great laugh, also, when some guy went crowdsurfing just like Ninja. In so doing, he namely neared the stage so close, twice, that the bouncers felt obliged to get him (intending to afterwards lower him back into the crowd on the side of the stage). But this failed, because the audience, both times, surfed him back, just out of reach of the bouncers' clawing fingers. Ninja saw this, jumped into the pit himself, embraced the dude, carried on rapping and briefly disappeared into the crowd, then remounted the stage with a wide grin and to immense applause, between the bashful bouncers. Fantastic, what a beautiful selfmade gift by a priceless performer. My gift, meanwhile, came at the end: when I'd already become disgruntled because it seemed not to arrive, it did at last, for encore. Doosdronk, and I went apeshit. Party party party party party party party! Party party party party party party party! Yes, THAT's what I call a party! I cannot explain this, to partypeople like Farid Kabbaj and Roy Donald Barbier: since this is a completely different, much more fun kind of party. Happy, happy, happy, happy! Befitting, too, that on my way to the exit, I run into the only person there that I know from Haarlem: Heleen, the darling dwarf of Stalker. This is just as unpeculiar here, as Leon Botha's pensive visage. And that's great! They're gone again but their adventure continues. And I observe, breathless. Just so much fun as Laura's tacking, between hapless horseshit and the dream. Because it's about the same: do as you dream, BEcause you CAN! Be happy.