I saw Girl Talk perform in Nashville six years ago. It happened by accident; My boss at the time told me that he read about some electronic music show happening downtown at the Ruby Green and wanted to know if I was interested in going. Around that time in my life, I was getting pretty used to sneaking in and out of shows around town, seeing a lot of horrid, pretentious rock bands, and meeting handfuls of dudes who get high and talk about all of the sweet jams they’re going to make. I spent a lot of time taking classes and making little records in my bedroom. I felt a real affinity for pretty much anything that wasn’t considered normal; I was keeping busy making the musical equivalent to pencil sharpeners and rumble grumbles, while basically looking for a scene that wasn’t so uptight.
The Ruby Green is an art gallery in Nashville and that night was my first time being there. It was full of maybe fifty or so kids running the entire gamut of personality and culture. The show took place in the main gallery space, which was mostly empty except for a giant ball of spiral wound phone cord hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, directly over a giant pile of phone receivers. The show was billed as an electronic music tour, dubbed the Wheels of Steel Tour, as all of those performing were from Pittsburgh, PA, one of the major steel producing cities in the country. The first act was a girl with a keytar who hooked it up with a little computer and proceeded to gyrate around to what was, essentially, horrible white noise. At first this was sort of amusing; you really had to give her credit for really going for it, but it was pretty awkward. Then it became pretty obvious, transitioning from song to song, that this was her thing and that she was going to be doing it for longer than two awkward minutes. The rest of those performing followed suit.
As the night furthered along, we found ourselves inching toward the exit until we were pretty much standing in the lobby of the place, which is when I realized I was standing next to a little scrawny guy in a jumpsuit named Gregg, or Girl Talk.
His first record, which I didn’t buy and haven’t heard, was out that year. It was about four years before his benchmark record, the Night Ripper, was to become the heralded new face of Plunderphonics (which we’ll get into in a minute) and party jam monster mixes for everyone from The New Yorker to Pitchfork Media. As I’m standing there with this dude (who is, admittedly, a pretty nice guy) it’s not really making me any less focused on leaving. I’ve had it with all of this creepy weirdness and I’m tired. Someone up front with the PA has started to play Van Halen, which makes me want to leave even more; in addition to that, I am now struggling with the fact that this dude in the jumpsuit is now putting on a headband and wristbands and taking off most of his clothes– the end result essentially being the look that I used to rock when I played basketball for the Catholic League in 1989. He’s clearly getting pumped up; like really, really pumped up. He’s in the zone. People are starting to clear him a path.
The whole thing turns into the slow clap moment at the end of Lucas.
The little dude, looking pretty determined, races to the front of the room (to his laptop), where he proceeds to shoot rainbow magic out of the speakers like lightning bolts from the able hands of Party Zeus on a Friday night before a three day weekend. There is really nothing that could have prepared me for what he was doing; it was like someone took the radio and shook it like you would shake a maraca before smacking you in the back of the head with it. His music presents itself as a casey casem cut and paste ‘where’s waldo’ jigsaw puzzle.
The crowd, having been prepared for this by the stevie nicks of white noise experimental keytarists, seemed a little confused. It was a lot like sleeping for 15 hours straight before having someone unload a dump truck full of alarm clocks on your face. And I was sold.
Fast forward five years to the Cannery Ballroom in Nashville. I’m standing inside and it’s really hot and already I’m sort of pissed because I hate the Cannery and there’s some dude in an Old Navy visor standing next to me and he’s drunk. I have the worst luck with Old Navy visor dudes, and tonight, there are lots of them at the Cannery. There’s lots of every type of girl and boy at the Cannery tonight; the place is packed from wall to wall. I have no idea what the capacity is there, but it feels like they’ve hit it. The stage is full of balloons and in the wings there’s a little dude wearing a hoodie, drinking a beer and holding a laptop.
It’s Gregg.
Looking back at the Girl Talk timeline, you realize that Night Ripper obviously did a lot of things. Girl Talk is a prime example of a performer who excels because of blogs, who does so without any major advertising. This is becoming more and more common, despite what your local record label owning, private equity firm wants you to think. The record buyer has changed, advertising has changed, and all of it continues to keep changing, which is why 400 people are crammed into the Cannery, spilling beer on one another, waiting to see a Plunderphonics DJ with no light show, no backing band, and, arguably, no music of his own.
You could argue that Girl Talk put Plunderphonics, or ‘making music out of other people’s music,’ on the mainstream map almost two decades after John Oswald coined the term, but I feel like that’s less important than the cultural and social implications of his work. Wikipedia, which has compiled an incomplete chronological list of samples for each Girl Talk track on the new album, lists samples from 23 different songs in the first track alone. For tracks on the Night Ripper, they point out that some of the sampled material comes tracks where the original artist sampled someone else:
[ “Summer in the City” by Quincy Jones + “Are You Experienced?” by Jimi Hendrix = “Passing Me By” by the Pharcyde, used by Girl Talk on “Smash Your Head”]
This is where Gillis eclipses the academic work of John Oswald; Girl Talk’s central motivation is not to outsmart anybody. He’s essentially making the greatest mixtape ever created, and not because it’s got your favorite TI song over your Mom’s favorite Tiny Tim song, but because it captures what mainstream culture is all about: turnover. Music sales overall were down 25% last year compared to the year before. Physical product is down 20% while internet sales are up 50%, yet the business is still losing revenue. You don’t technically need a slide ruler to figure out that people aren’t buying cds in stores anymore. They aren’t responding to radio or to ads like they used to; and the people who are buying music are online. They’re reading their email, talking to people, reading websites (like this one), and buying the new Lil Wayne single for a dollar on itunes; chances are they’re on their computer, and they’re talking to someone or watching tv, or making dinner, etc, so on and so forth. Keeping this in mind, after you download your new Lil Wayne jam, put it in itunes and on your ipod, about how long will you listen to it before you’re back on itunes, buying more new singles to listen to?
It’s cyclical. Music today has an extremely high turnover rate. It doesn’t matter if you like Top 40 or if you’re digging through crates in the back of Grimey’s, chances are whatever you find will lose replay value as soon as you hear it. This is why Girl Talk and his Plunderphonics bonanza won with the metropolitan Cannery crowd in the same way that he wins with most every crowd: if you don’t like the song the band is playing, wait two seconds, and you’ll get a new one. His records and shows last about an hour. The last record was released as mp3s as soon as he was finished with it. The whole thing comes with all of the bells and whistles, not too fast and not too slow, but just fast enough to simultaneously keep you from being bored and overwhelmed, which is why, in the end, I think Gillis is capitalizing less on the music he’s pilfering than the audience he’s entertaining.
By the end of the Cannery show, everyone was tired and coated in sweat and beer, Old Navy visor dude punched my friend Ben’s sister in the head two or three times with his drunken dance moves, and the stage had been completely dismantled. The helium in the balloons had allowed them to be strewn around the room, clinging to the ceiling as if they were trying to escape the animals below- everyone following Gillis, the Pied Piper of Plunderphonics.
Feed the Animals by Girl Talk is out now on Illegal Art.
