24 Hour Party People-Michael Winterbottom

Character traits of loyalty and deviance can work hand in hand to produce some amazing events in life that ultimately will stand the test of time and rise above any other cocktail tale told at a party. For instance, in September of 1998, in Elyria, OH, I was privileged to meet Kid Rock at an in-store appearance promotional signing for his upcoming album (at the time) "Devil Without a Cause." This came about due to my willingness to invest in my musical palate and create my niche. I wanted to develop my flavor of preference bereft of influence, and in doing so I would strive to attend any show I possibly could, regardless of the genre. I was a street team's wet dream as any flyer that was handed to me I would follow the band like a crusader and gobble up their merchandise and—more often than not—pretend to dig the music as if it were the best shit on the planet. This led to enduring a ton of shitty shows at festivals amidst nasty bouts of self-delusion and copious amounts of money spent on buying merchandise from bands I didn't care for. But such is the price to pay if one is willing to go the extra mile necessary to find their true, authentic self. Anyways, in 1998, the music scene of Detroit, in comparison to its modern-day standing, was a mere whisper. Artists like Kid Rock, Esham, and Insane Clown Posse were glorified blips on the regional rock radar, making about as much noise as Mushroomhead did at their apex. And Eminem was barely even being recognized as anything more than a foul-mouthed Vanilla Ice. *I recall stumbling upon his single "I just don't Give a fuck" after seeing the black and white video on The Box late one night, going out and purchasing the single the very next day at My Generation, then, slipping it on at a party the following weekend and being told immediately to—and I quote—"shut that wigger shit off". Later on, after he received mainstream backing, the very same partygoers fanatically purchased first-class tickets aboard the Marshall Mathers train, and to this day, as an ode to my integrity, I cannot bring myself to listen to his music in any capacity.* One of my friends mentioned that, since I was a fan of Cypress Hill, there was a new group out of Detroit just like them called "ICP". I purchased Forgotten Freshness and wasn't very impressed with what I heard. A few months went by and I bought Riddlebox then went all in on the Juggalo fanaticism. I bought up their entire catalog and found out as much as I could about any of the artists they were affiliated with. On May 4th of 1997, while I and my friend Blake were waiting in line to see ICP perform in a sold-out show at the Odeon for their Omen Tour, a guy in a black hoodie, fedora, and sunglasses with a black and mild hanging out of his mouth walked up to us and shoved a couple of flyers in our hands. I looked down at the picture and saw Kid Rock leaning against a brick wall cast in a red glow. At the bottom was an advertisement for a show at Peabody's down under. I looked up and saw that it was the man himself. "Fuck these plagiarizing punks! They ain't shit but a couple of con artists in makeup. You fellas don't look like those types of people. Are ya?" He interrogated through a cloud of smoke. "Nahhhh." "Well good. Then come check me out. I'm the main source. The real deal whose style these bozos bit. Come see my show after these guys swindle ya, and I bet you'll enjoy it more!" And off Kid Rock went to pass out more flyers. I didn't make it to that show, but I did end up purchasing his album "The Polyfuze Method" and came to enjoy it very much. Back to 1998, when I arrived at the in-store appearance, a measly 20 people were waiting in line to get Kid Rock (and Joe C's) autograph. Every single one of them: Juggalos. Funny how life works sometimes. I stepped up to the plate and a much calmer Kid Rock and jovial Joe C happily signed my promotional poster for Devil Without A Cause and I hung around in the music store until the crowd eventually dwindled into nothing. I was 14 at the time and my Dad had dropped me off there en route to Bob Evans about a mile away where he had a meeting with a couple about djing their wedding. I walked outside into the crisp September sun where Kid Rock was lighting up a fresh Newport. He didn't seem too upset about the underwhelming size of the crowd and through his shades, he sized me up. "Hey man, how old are you?" "14." "Get the fuck outta here! 'N how long you been listening to my shit for?" "I dunno. 'Bout a year—two years." "Fuck man, that's what's up. What's your name?" "Dave." "OK, Dave. I've got a show down at Peabody's tonight. I'm gonna put you on the guest list as Kid Dave. Just tell the bitch at the ticket booth your name and you'll get in free. Find me after the show and I'll get you fucked up on some booze and I'll score some hooker and get you laid! How's that sound?" "That sounds fuckin' awesome!" I couldn't wait to tell my Dad. I bounced over to another record store called Coconuts to browse before making it over to Bob Evans. I was so excited. I explained to him the news and he feigned enthusiasm. "That's great. When's the concert?" "Tonight!" He frowned. "I don't think so." "What? Why not?" I kind of figured that would be the answer, but I had to put up some form of protest. "A school night in downtown Cleveland by yourself. C'mon, what did you think, I'd let you go?" I shrugged my shoulders and submitted to defeat, wondering what could've been, but realizing in hindsight that it was never meant to be, as even if I were to tap into the ultra-rebellious nature within and sneak out that night, I wouldn't have had the first clue as to how to get down to the flats. Fast forward even further to 2015 when I attended Kid Rock's "First Kiss" tour at Blossom Music Center with my good friend Sherri. In the middle of his set, from the bottom of the lawn, I took a moment to look back at the sea of people that surrounded me, then thought back to the time when I got to meet him and there was 0.1% attendance in comparison. Very surreal. *** I spun this long-winded tale of my youth as a means of correlating how much the opening scene of 24 Hour Party People meant to me personally. Steve Coogan as Tony Wilson is nonchalantly chilling in his seat with his arm draped over the back of his wife (at the time) watching The Sex Pistols perform inside a cavernous theater to a crowd of 42 people. "The smaller the attendance the bigger the history. There were 12 people at the last supper. Half a dozen at Kitty Hawk. Archimedes was on his own in the bath." Tony Wilson breaks the fourth wall and casually brushes his arm across the room as the camera focuses on several groups of the audience. "Over there is the Stiff Kittens, who would eventually become Warsaw, penultimately become Joy Divison, and then eventually settle upon New Order." As he says this the various snippets of gigs grow in size in cadence with the band's stature until the audience overflows Wembley Stadium. This also happens with the Buzzcocks and a few other infamous rock 'n roll icons that would eventually come to change the landscape of music forever. One oversized amphitheater in Manchester with 42 people served as the nucleus of a magnificent epoch in music. Why God chose that concert to forever alter history is beyond me. I've been to a million shows similar in nature and the most I got out of it was a subtle buzz from the overpriced Pabst I bought at the bar. But that is the funny thing about epochs. They come and go at their own volition. And true epochs can never be planned or depended upon. They simply arrive and depart before anyone realizes what has happened. This moment serves as the launching pad for the rest of the documentary. Its haphazard style and delivery I found to be apropos to the frantic pace that surrounded Factory Records from its birth to its demise. Steadily over time, I have developed quite an appreciation for bands like Joy Division, and various breakbeats artists. To see their Genesis unfold was truly a privilege and I loved the style by which the production team delivered this tumultuous package. Factory Records providing free reign to their artists etched in Tony Curtis's blood inside of a bar leaves one with little reason to wonder why their value was worth virtually nothing when a transaction of the catalog is eventually attempted. And also, why such a legendary club like The Hacienda, funded completely on Ecstacy, fell into dissolution. But such are the components of fast and wild times. Absent the precautionary measures to sustain such a life, it is doomed to fail. As so happens with such great frequency in 24-Hour Party People. This comedy documentary I found to be an extremely pleasing adventure that was both original and educational. I had never heard of the Blue Mondays, The Hacienda, knew what led to Ian Curtis hanging himself, nor that electronic music was birthed in Manchester, but have grown a strong appreciation for everything that transpired there. As wide of a gap in genres as there may be, I do see a lot of similarities in the peak and valley terrain in Manchester that exist here in America. In the early 00's all you heard at the Gathering of the Juggalos were rally cries of family. Now, Twiztid, ABK, and Blaze have all left the label and set up separate camps of embitterment and view ICP as rivals. The indie hip hop scene that I came to grow passionate about in the mid '00-'10s has fizzled out into a digital landscape of grumpy 50 year old's mad at having been put out to pasture where they collect pennies for their royalties from crowds that moved on to attain college degrees and create families while some dorky YouTuber with face tattoos makes one rap video with electronic beats and garners 10 billion views.  Of that scene only Atmosphere and Run The Jewels still seem to exist in some form of modern relevance. Aesop Rock is on indefinite hiatus, 7L, and Esoteric haven't released an album in 14 years, Sage Frances has disappeared, The Weathermen Crew doesn't exist, Necro, Ill Bill, and the whole Psychological crew don't tour, Celph Titled hasn't released a solo album in 14 years and he and Apathy barely tour, Cage drastically altered his style to become rap's Marilyn Manson and who knows what the hell happened to him, and Jedi Mind Tricks haven't played a show since before the pandemic. So it goes I suppose in that industry. As the artists pay a price for fame, so too do the fans for investing so much faith into temporary landscapes. But in the end, I still feel as if it is worth it.

Stars: ****1/2

Verdict: Watch

Cousins: Sid and Nancy, This is Spinal Tap, CB4, Go, A Star is Born