Although, with the “passage” of 2020 (which is never really over and has become something of an Overlook Hotel situation for us all), everyone wanted so desperately to jettison the now haunting mantra, “Stay home, stay safe” or just “Stay at home.” But it’s difficult to want to dispense with that “2020 statement” altogether when seeing how people unleashed onto the world again has brought with it nothing but more trauma and heartache (including, of course, the reemergence of mass shootings).
The latest in that arsenal was the Astroworld Festival and the crowd crush that occurred on Travis Scott’s watch. One that he not only encouraged, but also showed no regard for in terms of considering the already-compromised-to-begin-with safety of others. After all, that’s his “signature,” his shtick. Why would he stop now just because “one or two people” were “crying about it”? He can chalk it up to a “the show must go on” mentality all he wants, but obviously there are extenuating circumstances for such a platitude. What’s more, that statement is decidedly of the “boomer era,” not the “snowflake” one, wherein we must all constantly check each other’s state of mental health before carrying on with anything.
Anyone who has ever been to a concert, even one that should be as theoretically “tame” as Lana Del Rey’s, is familiar with that gut-sinking feeling of a crowd surge. While many in the crowd feed off of it, for whatever reason (believing somehow it’s part of being truly “alive” and experiencing the music), others catch a wave of anxiety that rightfully leads them to believe they might just have to die in order to hear the music they love so much live. In this sense, too, the music no longer becomes a source of joy, but one of PTSD—songs being among the most powerful tools with regard to evoking a feeling-laden memory. And the feeling at the Astroworld Festival was undeniably one of collective dystopian gloom. Watching that moment of the audience pleading desperately with Scott to cease his performance, only for him to shruggingly carry on will surely go down in the history of how we became unfeeling androids.
With the audience screaming at Scott at a crescendo of a volume to tell him to stop, their imploration ended up doing nothing. Maybe because you can’t stop ego, especially of the variety that will ally itself with someone from the Kardashian-Jenner cabal. And Scott’s is one that wanted to be fed by further crowd adulation. Not seeming to comprehend that their focus could be on, say, the bodies piling up around them as opposed to Scott’s “artistry.” Part of which seems to rely heavily on encouraging crowd dissonance, with a storied history of his performances being accused of causing reckless endangerment. To some, that’s all part of the blowback of being a “true artist.” To others, it’s merely the mark of being a true asshole.
The footage from the festival of Scott “singing” as though absolute chaos was not erupting in front of his very eyes is not just one of the most haunting visions of 2021, but possibly in the history of documented American grotesquerie. Rather than prompting assessments of Scott as being merely part of the coterie of blasé celebrities in existence, it instead seemed to incite conspiracy theories about how the whole thing was part of a satanic ritual. Because, for whatever reason, people can’t seem to believe a celebrity (ergo a rich person) could be a douche without “motive.” That’s the entire point of being a celebrity though—it gives you “the license.”
The license to see an ambulance come through the crowd and instead of expressing concern, announce, “What the fuck is that? Everybody put their middle finger up in the sky.” That everybody did put their middle finger up to the sky was perhaps even more disturbing, along with those who were filmed dancing on top of the ambulance. To be fair on the satanic ritual theory, however, it did seem a bit too on the nose for Scott to scream, “I’m gonna make this motherfuckin’ ground shake, goddammit!” as the gates of hell ostensibly opened up onto this concert like a “Boschian spectacle” (incidentally, how The New Yorker described Kim Kardashian’s photo op with Donald Trump).
In the aftermath, there were a slew of clips that surfaced online to highlight how other musicians, ranging from Dave Grohl to Linkin Park to Lady Gaga, handled unruly crowds by stopping their performance altogether to call attention to the issue. And yes, that would have been all Scott needed to do to reveal some level of compassion and empathy for the people that literally pay for his everyday life. Payments they might perhaps want to stop making in order to provide an example to every celebrity that they are not god. Yet it’s partially the public’s—the “fans’”—fault for making them subscribe to that narcissistic viewpoint.
What we are seeing most clearly manifested, complete with Kylie and Kendall running for cover with their flank of bodyguards, is how the rich will react in any situation that is life-threatening, always leaving the “plebes” to fend for themselves in favor of their own self-preservation. Regardless of those 2020 assurances, “We’re all in the same boat.” Not when some people’s boat is a rickety canoe without paddles and another’s is a yacht.
In addition to 2020 being the year that unveiled how key it was to one’s safety to just stay the fuck home (or at least not go “out out”), it also served as a major wake-up call about how fragile celebrities actually are. How their entire fate truly does rest in the hands of the “commoners.” And yet, despite knowing this, they continue to act more foolish and out of touch with reality than ever during the (still ongoing) pandemic. From singing “Imagine” together to talking about how they just wanted to feel “normal” for one day by going to a private island to insisting COVID is the “great equalizer,” there was no shortage of celebrities losing their damn minds as a result of not being the full center of attention. The same “syndrome” applied tenfold to Scott’s reaction to the fatalities unfolding in his purview. Maybe Live Nation would like to spin it as him simply being a “consummate performer,” but no, this was a case of full-tilt sociopathy of the variety that has been mounting with increased noticeability since the twenty-first century began.
Because of the date that the “incident” transpired, “remember, remember the fifth of November” now not only applies to Guy Fawkes Day, but reminding oneself that celebrities—no matter how much you think you “love” them—do not give an actual fuck about you. In this regard, there is a correlative quality to Guy Fawkes Day and the Astroworld Festival occurring on November 5th. For Guy Fawkes Day supports the railing of the lower classes against upper class tyranny. As long as it’s not to the tune of “Sicko Mode,” which, yes, has a permanent macabre tone to it.
