As a teenager growing up in San Francisco’s working-class suburbs, I didn’t have much to do. So during my early teenage years, I immersed myself in the Juggalo world. (A Juggalo is term for a fan of the group Insane Clown Posse or other hip-hop groups under the Psychopathic Records label.) From ages 12 to 16, I would regularly bump Insane Clown Posse (ICP), Twiztid and every other side act Psychopathic Records could come up with. If it had a Hatchetman logo, I bought it, no matter how ridiculous the gimmick was (looking at you, Blaze Ya Dead Homie).
Then at around age 17, I became less interested in the Juggalo subculture and became more interested in underground hip-hop — or as the snobs on the Internet call it, “real hip hop.” So I did what everyone else did when they wanted to explore a new genre of music and headed straight to YouTube. I got into Nas, Immortal Technique, Jedi Mind Tricks, Ill Bill, Tech N9ne and Joe Budden. All of them were and still are incredible lyricists. But one artist and one verse stood tall above the rest, and that was the verse R.A the Rugged Man spit on “Uncommon Valor” by Jedi Mind Tricks.
The verse told the story of Rugged Man’s father, staff seargeant John A. Thorburn, who was a real Vietnam vet and someone who struggled with the daily consequences of our government’s use of Agent Orange, a deadly chemical concoction primarily used during the Vietnam War. I became obsessed with this verse and learned it by heart, reciting it to anyone willing to listen.
To call R.A.’s verse “good” is to misunderstand its depth and its mastery. You weren’t just listening to another rapper talk shit; you were listening to someone who had tapped into the very fabric of hip-hop’s essence and performed a verse showcasing everything that made hip-hop great — a true benchmark for the genre.
Fast forward to 2017, and ICP is in the news again — not for pondering the wizardry of magnets but because the FBI (as in the Federal Bureau of Investigation) labeled their fan base, the Juggalos, a “loosely organized hybrid gang,” which sounds like the way a stoner who’s trying to sound smart might describe a weed strain. ICP also just happened to be on tour with a show scheduled for Oakland, and I was considering going to the show in a sign of solidarity against the FBI’s egregious ruling. I didn’t feel a strong need to attend—during my teenage years, I had my fill of poorly imitated renditions of ICP clown-face paint. However, when it was announced that R.A. the Rugged Man would be opening for them, it was a sign from God that I had to attend this concert.
When I arrived at the show, I discovered that despite my many years away from the ICP fan base, the Juggalo world had remained largely unchanged—well, perhaps except for the fact that they had become a federally recognized gang. People were still whooping, and the clown paint was still badly done and smeared from sweat. The ICP concert format had also remained unchanged. Once we made it into the venue, there was the expected DJ set, and the first opener was, as always, a shitty nu-metal band that no one had ever heard of but that kinda sounded like Limp Bizkit if Limp Bizkit had recorded all their songs in a garage and forced Fred Durst to perform while his dick was being mutilated in a blender. Anyway, I used this time to check out the merch booth.
When I got back from buying T-shirts that I probably wouldn’t ever wear, a rapper named Lyte was performing. People in the line didn’t seem to like him because he was charging 50 dollars for a meet-and-greet. As one of the people in line next to me exclaimed, “What the fuck is a Lyte?” to which I responded, “What the fuck is a magnet?” No one laughed.
What I can say about Lyte is that he rapped rather quickly and recited the most overused line in rap history when he informed the crowd of Juggalos that he “didn’t do real estate” but would “put you in your place.”
I had a sudden boost of confidence and rushed downstairs to show R.A. the Rugged Man that I could rap his entire “Uncommon Valor” verse—a tongue twister that clocks in at over two minutes—without fucking up. Boy, was I wrong.
Finally, we got to the half of the show I was there to see: R.A. the Rugged Man and, I guess, the Insane Clown Posse. Rugged Man got on the stage and killed it. He jumped into the crowd and walked around, all while quickly rapping intricate verses. I was hyped! Some of the ICP fan base seemed to be not so into him, but I could understand that. After his set, another DJ starting playing a mix of old-school hip-hop, Bay Area hip-hop and random songs from Psychopathic Records’ extensive catalog.
While I was standing around, nodding my head to old-school Snoop Dogg and waiting for ICP to finally take the stage, my friend told me R.A. was down at the merch booth, talking to fans. This was my chance! I had a sudden boost of confidence and rushed downstairs to show him that I could rap his entire “Uncommon Valor” verse—a tongue twister that clocks in at over two minutes —without fucking up. Boy, was I wrong.
To make matters worse, he actually had me stop so he could record it, because “fans like that kinda shit.”
When I was finally standing in front of R.A. to rap the verse, anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks. I was standing in front of a man whom Biggie Smalls had essentially said was a better rapper than he was. To make matters worse, he actually had me stop so he could record it, because “fans like that kinda shit.” This made me even more nervous. So I’m standing there, my heart racing, surrounded by people, in front of one of my favorite rappers of all time, and I start rapping the verse. It started off well, even though I was rapping it way too fast. At one point, I looked R.A. in his eyes, and it seems like he was kinda impressed. But when my brain acknowledged that, I shit the bed. Right when that happened, R.A. screamed, “You fucked it up!”
Of course, I’m too stupid to quit and kept going, because fuck it. I just fucked up a rap legend’s verse to his face, and I’m at an Insane Clown Posse concert. I have no dignity. Why pretend? I end the encounter with a signed vinyl and a picture—memorabilia from my moment of embarrassment.
When ICP finally began to perform the album that catapulted them into the American mainstream, The Great Milenko, I had a hard time enjoying it. I legitimately still like the record, but the sting of embarrassment was still burning in my chest. What confused me was how many random people in the crowd came up to me to give me props for rapping to him. I fucked up. Why do you want a handshake?
As I was making my way back home, I obsessively checked Instagram to see if he had posted the video. I was relieved that it wasn’t up. The next day, I woke up and did my early-morning ritual of checking Facebook, Twitter, etc., and there it was on Twitter—the video of me making an ass out of myself sent to his nearly 90,000 followers. To my surprise, most of the comments were neutral, and some were even positive; and at least I have something to write about!
Henry Rollins once said, “Half of life is fucking up; the other half is dealing with it.” I definitely fucked up, and I’m doing my best to deal with it.
