Circus Redickuless



A cachorra do Chicken, Dammit Dog, está fazendo 18 aninhos de idade amanhã. E vai ganhar uma festança. A cachorra mais popular de San Francisco já foi a estrela do Circus Ridickuless, um circo punk rock que o Chicken fundou nos anos 90 e viajou de costa a costa por vários anos.


Basicamente, era um circo em que ninguém sabia fazer nada. Inclusive a Dammit.


Parece totalmente idiota, e é. Mas é muito engraçado. E amanhã, no venerável bar 12 Galaxies na Mission Street, o Circus Ridickuless se juntará de novo, quer dizer, os que sobreviveram, para celebrar o aniversário da nossa querida cachorrinha.


Mas o Chicken explica muito melhor que eu aí embaixo:

I just re-read the post I sent out last year for the show when Dammit (amazingly) turned 17. Well, she’s 18 this year and actually doing much better than last year. Dog acupunture actually works. Who knew? I’m officially a Californian. My dog gets acupunture. I can’t possibly write anything better, so I’m just gonna send this out again. (editing it just a little) I enjoyed re-reading it. I hope you do as well. And I hope you will join us at the show on the 18th. I had the most fun that I had in YEARS at the last show.


In 1994 I wanted to do something that would impact culture to a degree that I couldn’t’ understand using a tool that no one else was using. I couldn’t figger out how to do that, so I started a circus instead. I couldn’t have ever relised that the 2 would intersect in such a confluence; I ended up living my thesis of: “Art for all purposes” using an interesting template…. ‘No content’ as ‘the content’. I sold people on the idea of providing nothing in the form of a circus show as a way to embrace the most inspiring show we could do. We would have no talent, thereby giving access to anyone. Then, I toured the show for 5 years. Actually, you could say I dragged the show around for 5 years… kicking a screaming and biting. If you could add up the calories spent in throwing a circus it would likely rival a small war. In the end, I guess it worked. I am proud that I and those with me ‘tipped’ the circus idea and inspired the THOUSANDS of small, independent circus’ that popped up here and there shortly after we toured. And longly. And they still are. That’s in the end. But in the beginning, it was just us. And boy, was it lonely. Lemme ‘splain: I call a club to book the circus. The conversation usually went like this:

CHICKEN: “Hello there, my name is Chicken John, I’m the director of a small, independent traveling circus that would like to play in your club. Do you have the night of April 23d available?”

GREASY CLUB OWNER: “A circus? What kind of music do you play?

CHICKEN: “Well, we’re not a band. We’re a circus. A full variety show.”

GREASY CLUB OWNER: “If your not a band, what kind of music do you play?”

On and on it went. You would say to people that you were a circus, and they would imagine clowns playing the guitar. No, just the clown. No guitar. A 25 person circus with 5 vehicles and 3 dogs. A full 3 hour show with lights and sound and acrobats and it’s all terrible. We put the OOOP in TROUPE, but we havn’t any talent. It’s the show of schmoes… blab la bla… I would try to explain that we couldn’t actually do anything but that it was actually better. Higher art. That was at first. I of course stopped doing that because no one wanted to book that. I ended up prostituting the idea that, indeed, clowns play the guitar. Clown girls doing strip teases. With, of course, giant boobs. Yes, we juggle. No one got it. Not even most of the people in the troupe. Unbowed, I continued. I thought that I would crack the code. Figger it out. Collect bling. I was young.

I’m no longer young. But the idea of the circus was an odd Zeitgeist that I participated in. A renaissance of art. There were a small handful of people who had a proclivity for the old ways… and in 1994, if you remember, it was all about particle board and the Pontiac Fiero. Interesting thing about particle board, like plywood isn’t made of particles… but I digress. The destination was marked, and we all ran screaming twards it. But like an oasis in the desert, the destination kept getting farther instead of further… and we ended up REPLACING instead of changing culture. Capice? It’s not bad, but it’s terribly interesting. It wasn’t a hobby, something that we did while holding down jobs and paying bills. We wandered from town to town trying to get people to come see a show that championed the amateur and the improvisation of a group of idiots with no talent. Without a dollar in our pockets. Seasons melted into years. Affecting culture and living your life as art blurred into survival. It became Quixotic.

I guess I’m still doing the same thing. Kinda. I ran for mayor without a platform. All the people of the circus were affected by it, understand it and are still contributing in some way. A lot of years have gone by. All the circus people scattered to the 4 winds. A few of them are gonna come out and play Friday night, at 12 Galaxies. Why Friday night the 18th of January?

Dammit the Amazing Wonderdog is turning 18 years old. This dog is better traveled then most people I know. She has had the most attention that a dog can possibly have. 25 people to throw the stick. Adoring fans. Her image on t-shirts, posters, coffee mugs and all of Hal Robins’ artwork for the circus. We named the production company after her. She was the only star of the circus. She had a theme song. She is now old. She had a little stroke thing, and is a little crooked. Listing, actually. I want Dammit to hear her song again. I want her to hear the roar of the crowd as she absolutely refuses to jump through the hoop. I want her to take home underage girls from Orinda after the show and tie them up and… oh wait, I do that not Dammit… I want her to do it again while she still can. And she can. Barely, but yes. She can.

Have you never seen Dammit’s act? Or Jarico’s? Did you know that the Bike Rodeo, the Black Label bike club and the Hard Times guys and Burning Man’s DPW were, at one time, soldiers that saluted one flag? That flag, ladies and gentlemen… was the Circus Redickuless.

An insult more then a concept, we took acts that generations of people honed to perfection and obliterated them with comedy and beer. With Jim Masons’ Vegomatic of the Apocalypse in the parking lot out back. A gang of angry drunk idiots on tall bikes and clowns that were molesting your girlfriend in the toilet. We were the island of misfit toys on tour. It was an experiment in freedom. In pre-9/11 America. I don’t think you could do that today. The touring part, not the performing part. You can see the performing part in everywhere. It tipped. ‘Other’ entertainments are now the norm.

As with the Odeon. When I opened the Odeon (the project after the circus) I only booked things that couldn’t find a home elsewhere. By the end of the Odeon’s’ usefulness, I was competing with all the other clubs in SF for ‘my’ acts. Problem solved, time to move on. I’m not saying we were the only ones breaking that horse… I’m just saying that we helped. We’ll have to wait until HBO does the made-for-TV-movie of Steven Raspas life before we find out who was REALLY responsible for the ideas that ‘broke’ fun fur and fedoras… and I am not going to be the first person to write a book about something that omits a person or two because I’m an asshole. There are books. And a lot more.

There is a movie. Phil Glau made a 87 minute film (16mm). A tour chronicle. ‘Tour de Farce. It won 17 film festivals. It’s hard to watch. Your depressed when it’s done. He put it out on DVD last year, with some “10 years later” footage at the end. Seeing Jarico a dozen years ago is magical. We were all children. Dannygirl, Michael Gump, Mark Miller… they will all be at the show. Also David Apocalypse, maybe Tall Who Is Paul, and if we’re lucky we may get auther Brian Doherty (This is Burning Man) to do his famous “Human Human” act. Phil will be there with his new DVD. You wont’ buy it, but you will feel comforted that you could google it if ya really wanted to. It’s nice to have that kind of ‘access’.

The final nail in the coffin of the Circus was a 13 page spread in Spin magazine. I probably don’t have to tell you what happened after that… lets just say that we couldn’t live up to our own hype. As no one really can. Defined by a story, and no longer available to possibility, the honeymoon ended. No one could run away fast enough.

We all likely wish we didn’t, now.

The Circus Redickuless was a great thing. Come witness failure defeated, mutated into something that can be argued as a success that may or may not be amusing to watch.


CHILL! The bone chilling spectacle of the GREAT SILLOUETTO, shadow puppeteer

SPILL! Your drink, while whistling to Meagan, our supple, milky REVERSE STRIPPER

WEEP! Dr. Hal brings you the truth of the future with OUIGI RAIDO

PUKE! Our VEGAN GEEK will bite the head off a lettuce

GARGLE! As our JUGGLER astounds gravity


ROCK! To the sounds of the ODEON ALL STAR BAND

HAIL! To the only star of the circus: DAMMIT THE AMAZING WONDERDOG

CRINGE! Ringmonster CHICKEN JOHN sticks stuff up his nose and pulls it out his butt

Flambe! IGOR IGNITOR sets the club on fire

Bottlecaps! Delight in wonder at the INVISIBLE TAP DANCER

BLING! To the rapping MAD COW, biotch

…All this and the WORLDS LONGEST SOCK PUPPET to start the night off.


1 comment so far

  1. renas on

    Arruma uma camiseta da dammit !!

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