Wu Done It

Just booked tickets to SXSW (Huge Music Festival!!!), where I’ll be representing Cdigix, a subscription music service that I write editorial content for.

Pasted below is a short selection from a recent review of a Wu-Tang Clan show in Washington, DC.

I scalped my ticket to a Wu-Tang concert off of somebody whose name was “King”. I found the ticket on the Internet and arranged to meet him in front of a bookstore in the busiest intersection of the city, a condition I requested, as I was paranoid that I would be front-page news the next day, the subject of a violent crime inspired by an O.D.B. skit.

I arrived at the bookstore and realized that King wouldn’t be able to recognize me, despite my email confirmation that said, “I’ll be the dorky looking bespectacled typical suburban Jewish Wu fan.” In order to identify myself, I sporadically put my hands in the shape of a W and slowly raised them up against my chest and looked around my peripherals. When that didn’t work, I considered walking up to people and whispering, “Hey, Dirty. Baby, I’ve got your money.” Luckily, King (who looked like he worked at Brooks Brothers) found me before an undercover cop could arrest me. I slipped him the money, and tried to do an intricate handshake, but King just wasn’t having it.

I imagine a lot of Wu-Tang fans have had similar experiences in their 13 years of fandom. I first entered the 36 Chambers at summer camp. A bunch of kids from New York had older brothers that were cool enough to lend them cassette tapes (coincidentally this summer also marked the first time I ever saw a Playboy, but I digress). Our cabin’s anthem was the lyrics “hey, you, get off my cloud”, which was quickly adapted to “hey, you, get off my bunk”. In summary, I’m pretty sure I personify the average Wu-Tang fan.