Horst Christian Simco, also known as The Vanilla Gorilla, The Cherry Chupacabra, Rap Game Bon Jovi, The Tangerine Tiger, Caucasian Cassius Clay, White Judge Judy, Butterscotch Boss, Iceberg Simpson, Jody Highroller, and most commonly as Riff Raff, performed at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor, Michigan on Thursday night. Joining the likes of luminary artists such as Bo Diddley, Joan Baez, and Nirvana to take the stage at this legendary venue, the Texas rapper and Vine icon gave his audience what was to be expected.
Danny Dollars opened the show with some base-heavy bravado that set the stage for the unironic absurdity that was to follow. Dressed in a neon sweatsuit and a black balaclava, Dollars warmed up the crowd as it meandered into the room. I wasn’t alone in being unfamiliar with his work, and I’ll admit, I was inclined to head down to 8 Ball for some cheaper drinks and to play some pool before the main event commenced. That’s what I did. After checking out some of his songs this weekend, I can confidently say I made the right choice. After partaking in some billiards, stale popcorn, and an uncomfortable interaction with some frat bros – one of whom, after learning I was a history major, gave me his historical hot take that Abraham Lincoln is the most overrated President – I went back upstairs.
As the second opener – a Riff Raff lookalike who goes by Too Stoned – performed, I took note of the demographic makeup of my fellow audience members. Middle-aged white men in oversized Vans hoodies, drug rugs, and designer zip-ups with suspiciously large logos dominated the floor. There was also plenty of neon, camo, and skull emblems filling up a room smelling of sweat, dust, and the faint scent of a weed pen. Scanning the crowd while hearing the repeated line of “I got hoes in different area codes,” I started to question whether the skinny neon-clad culture vultures spitting nonsensical non-sequiturs were a part of an SNL skit. This feeling was only heightened by Too Stoned yelling out, “If you bought some merch, MAKE SOME NOISE – Remember, it’s all about networking.” Still, as I took in my surroundings with a critical eye, I also turned that gaze inward. I tried to reflect on whether I was there ironically or not, and remember thinking that I sure hope I am.
Thankfully, The Cinnamon Sandman finally emerged. His getup did not disappoint. Accompanying his dreads and jagged chin-strap beard were his signature Pit Vipers, fluorescent neon football gloves, a neon wristwatch with a bezel, a Fox Racing protector jacket, and undulating camo pants – cue the Riff adlib. I wouldn’t attest to being the biggest fan of his, so I didn’t know many of the songs, but it wasn’t hard to catch up. His lyrics are characterized by a sort of caricature of Southern rap stylings, his unique touch of lyrical absurdity, and references to exotic fashion, pop culture figures, and sporting icons. Some stand-out lines included: “Boysenberry bubble bath / I feel like Rumpelstiltskin when I’m 14 carat Jag,” “I’ma say it ten times can’t get repo’d / When I rock a turtleneck I feel like Edgar Allen Poe,” “I feel like Kristin Stewart playin’ infrared golf,” and “Fish scale, shark tail / I used to test coke for the cartel.” He is undoubtedly a good entertainer, and even if I may question the hollowness of his lyrics in their juvenile veneration of things people may recognize as cool, I laughed, I nodded my head, I fell for it too.
A question I had going into the show, and one that remained with me throughout, was who is the real Riff Raff? A 2013 article for Vice (https://www.vice.com/en/article/rap-game-riff-raff-versace-lyrics/) reveals his suburban childhood and counters his claim that he is the son of a “professional street basketball player” – his dad was a police officer. I won’t focus on this aspect of his persona, but the racial ventriloquism of Riff Raff is exemplified by that anecdote. He yearns to be a part of hip-hop culture, and his lyrical talents and catchy cadence are clear, but he is fundamentally a suburban white kid with a cop father. The ending of the show, in which his rendition of his flagship song, “Tip Toe Wing in My Jawwdinz” was followed by a country cover of the song, reminded me of the ways artists like Post Malone have used hip-hop to elevate themselves, capitalizing on their gimmick status, only to turn their back on the culture by returning to more white-coded avenues (e.g. Bud Light commercials and country music). While critical, the Vice article is ultimately complimentary of the wordsmithing talents of this “outlandish genius” and ends by saying, “It’s the success story of self-transformation: If you don’t like who you are, become someone else; if no archetype exists for what you want to become, create it.”
But as I observed the solo men around me, heard lyrics like “I done shot more jumpers than that Bill Cosby,” and listened to “How to Be a Man,” I contemplated whether there is something deeper and darker underneath his candy-coated facade. In the current cultural context of the manosphere, Donald Trump, and the so-called male loneliness (inadequacy?) epidemic, Riff Raff’s over-the-top celebration of money, status symbols, and shallow references to women strike me as emblematic of the prideful reemergence of misogyny in this country. Not that it ever went away, or that Riff Raff is the person responsible for perpetuating it, but his comical performance of masculinity is nonetheless revealing of the ways some men seek to escape reality and avoid confronting their inner selves.
One of my favorite Riff Raff songs, “Time,” off his 2014 debut album Neon Icon, offers a glimpse into his more introspective and sensitive side. Expressing a rare moment of vulnerability, he raps that, “In my life all alone again / I got no wife / I got no kids / No one to come home to / No one to cook for me / And when I’m sick / It’s a catastrophe.” He then asks, “Was all my grind just a waste of time?” Unfortunately, in the patriarchal world we live in, where genuine feeling is classified as weakness, songs like these don’t get the radio play, the virality, or appear on setlists. Instead, Riff Raff connects with his audience by suppression-maxxing his feelings. This is evident in the lines that were performed like, “If I wake up with depression, I might take a swimming lesson.” This nonchalance in the face of deep insecurity is resonant and momentarily cathartic to the outcasts who consume his music, but what is left when they, too, have no one to go home to?
In a 2001 article for Cinema Journal, “‘It’s Just a Movie’: A Teaching Essay for Introductory Media Classes,” Greg Smith responds to the ‘it’s not that deep’ crowd when he says that even if a piece of media isn’t necessarily meant to be taken seriously, it can still “give us clues about the meanings and assumptions shared by the members of a culture.” For Smith and other scholars of media and performance, all art reflects shared cultural meanings, and it is thus worthwhile to interrogate and question those meanings – especially when considering the state of the world that has been the fruition of our socio-cultural norms.
But hey, I still had fun. I enjoyed the spectacle. I’m aware that The Raspberry Rod Stewart isn’t meant to be taken too seriously, but if no one is expected to be taken seriously, then what good can seriously come from what you put out into the world? I hope the best for Mr. Simco, as well as Mr. Dollars and Mr. Stoned, and truly hope they find meaning and purpose in their lives. I just question whether that will come from a “caramel crush cantaloupe Cuban link.”