This article comes by way of the author’s recollections, in addition to some extra tidbits taken from cross-referencing those that attended the ElectroniCON 3 festival. While these accounts are not entirely factual, it has been approached in a way that seeks to emulate the emotions that were experienced at the time. This, ultimately, may represent the truth more honestly than any other way.
The illustration displayed above was composed by Kyle Bekins (@offtheoso).
“Who the hell is George Clanton?”
The question was passed around the table as the four of us, each dealing with varying levels of bewilderment at 1 in the morning, did our best to process what had transpired over the last 7 hours. Any attempt to recount something resulted in hysterical laughter as we tried to draw a thread between the sights, sounds, and feelings we had. Later that day, when asked to describe the experience at a modestly attended dinner party, someone summarized it as “some of the worst music I’ve ever heard, but the most fun I’ve had all summer.” This is referring to ElectroniCON 3, the multi-stage vaporwave festival that took place at Knockdown Center earlier this month. While I thoroughly enjoyed my experience at the festival, I was left with more questions than answers.
In order to reach any kind of coherent deduction of this, we must first go back in time.
Sometime in 2013…
While in a smoke-filled garage in the San Diego suburbs, my roommate and I were searching the corners of YouTube for an explanation of vaporwave, a genre of electronic music involving heavily altered samples of 80s and 90s songs, accompanied by the vivid imagery of digital landscapes that sought to poke fun at capitalistic ideologies. A video entitled “Vaporwave: A Brief History” provided a glimpse into the history of this movement. We were both entranced. One of the various projects that are mentioned in this video included the album Atmospheres 第1 by the artist Eco Virtual, an attempt to emulate songs that would have been heard on the weather channel. The reliance on retooling pre-existing work, paired with the anonymity of many of the artists in that space, piqued my interest.
As the years went on, I wondered how this kind of music would translate into the real world. Was there such a thing as “live vaporwave”?
All of these listeners, ingesting this content in the comfort of their private homes, would have to intersect at some point. This global act of digital defiance needed representation in the physical world as well. This soon came to fruition as events began to pop up around the area. Whether it was jamming to future funk at Space Bar, or vibing out to FrankJavCee at the Kava Lounge, vaporwave seemed to be alive and well. Deep down, however, I sought more. I knew this kind of music could warrant more than just a small performance in a tucked-away bar with a 20-person attendance. There had to be more people in the world that wished to dive deeper into the vapor.
Then, after years of discovering more and more branches of the genre, I discovered George Clanton and his record label 100% Electronica. After missing his previous two attempts to do a large vaporwave gathering, I discovered he was doing a third this year. The lineup was impressive and included many of the artists that I had come to know over the last nine years. One artist, desert sand feels warm at night, was someone that I became particularly interested in. He resides in a subsection of vaporwave called slushwave, where the samples and sounds are utilized in more abstract forms, resulting in a more spiritual encounter than usual. My only opportunity to meet him was at a tape swap event that occurred the day before, at a small gallery space in Bushwick.
It was going to be a weekend to remember, and I wished to share this experience with others. Someone else had to be present, in the hope to make some sense of everything that was about to occur.
VAPORWAVE TAPE SWAP: FRIDAY, AUGUST 19th, 2022
After finishing up some morning errands, I unlocked a grey Citibike and zipped to the gallery space. I don’t have much vaporwave in the playlist that I listen to while I bike, mainly cause I see the music as something that can’t be shared on the go. A sense of stillness and presence is necessary. Instead, I pedaled to the tune of The Flower of Carnage by Meiko Kaji, an appropriate song for the occasion.
Before arriving at the space, I stopped at a nearby bodega to grab myself a sandwich. As I waited for my cheesesteak, I wandered to the fridge to get a beverage for myself and the person I was about to interview. “Fiji is the right choice,” I thought to myself. I tossed my sandwich and the two bottles into my bag and walked to the space. When I arrived, I was greeted with a wonderful sight, a small group of people dressed in stylish clothes and edgy, screen-printed designs. Every outfit had a story to tell. My eyes were wide open – I felt among my people.
I wondered if it was a mistake to bring real-world commentary into a space where everyone was looking to escape something.
I took the time to glance at the various vendor tables – all of them featured stickers, cassette tapes, vinyl, and other items. One vendor had a plastic tub full of Walkman tape players, that I believe were handed to people who either reserved them beforehand or bought them on-site. I occasionally forget that physical mediums can be very resilient, despite rises and falls in their popularity.
I received many compliments on my shirt – a disturbing rendering of Ted Cruz with the subtitle “TED CRUZ WAS THE ZODIAC KILLER” resting gently under it. This sparked a conversation with someone that was in town from Texas to attend ElectroniCON. “He just… fuck that guy,” was muttered several times as we lamented over Cruz’s appalling political behavior. I wondered if it was a mistake to bring real-world commentary into a space where everyone was looking to escape something.
While waiting outside to do my interview, I ran into the guy working the audio board for the tape swap. He was in good spirits, and very easy to talk to. We both shared our excitement for the music festival, looking out to the small crowd outside of the space. “There’s just no ill will here. Everyone’s here to just have a good time and enjoy the vibes,” he said with a warm smile.
Moments later, I met up with desert sand feels warm at night (a.k.a. Will). He was a very kind and humbling person to meet, and I knew he was the right person to talk to about their music. At the top of the discussion, I gifted him one of the Fiji bottles, saving the other one for later. We took breaks in our conversation whenever the J train passed by overhead. I kept noticing people nearby talking about the albums they had just purchased on vinyl, but held my focus on the interview I was conducting.
After we finished, we parted ways and I took the bus back to my home. All I could think of was getting to bed as early as possible, knowing that the next day would take a lot out of me. I feel like I only make bus trips as a last resort, but this time I took it to give myself time to process. Something wasn’t adding up. It felt like the culture didn’t entirely align with the content. Sure, most of the audience that gathers for vaporwave are pretty damn harmless, but it felt that something needed to be said about the digital presence and the physical presence, and what the intersection of the two might look like. I suppose I was about to find out soon enough.
ELECTRONICON 3: SATURDAY, AUGUST 20th, 2022
The day began with breakfast at a nearby diner. I enjoyed a delicious plate of smoked brisket hash and a tall cup of iced coffee. I was joined by my partner-in-crime Nadine, our friend Truman that was visiting from Philadelphia. We brought our senior dog with us too, who got a nice hefty bowl of water for himself from the wait staff. We then stopped by the farmers’ market, picked up some earrings from a stand in the neighborhood, then took a nap. To get ourselves hyped up, we put on Beyonce’s new album Renaissance.
The line that always gets me is that one from Heated. The one that goes “Uncle Johnny made my dress. That cheap spandex, she looks a mess.” That line came to mind as I slipped into a Blackmilk dress and black mesh top for the event. I inhaled a can of Yerba Mate before we got into our Lyft. The bottle of Fiji that I purchased the day before was still in my bag. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring in some extra water, for hydration’s sake.
We left our furry, adopted son in the air-conditioned room and embarked to the venue.
After we got through security, we decided to do a lap to get a lay of the land. The outdoor stage was lively and bumping out of the gate, decorated with palm trees imported from who-the-hell-knows-where. We then checked out the main stage, where Vitesse X was finishing her set. Her guitar riffs rung off the halls like a fresh breeze from the ocean, heightening the emotions in the room, even if for a moment. We then ended up in the club stage – where the “true“ fans seemed to be assembling. We grabbed some food from one of the two food trucks in play. I got a plate with rice and chicken tibs – a spicy way to start the evening. Nadine and I shared a can of pink peppercorn spice soda, something I had never heard of before. It had an incredible taste, making me wish that if I ever had the chance to try melange in real life, I would hope it tasted like that drink.
We returned to the club stage to see Equip, a Chicago-based musician and vaporwave veteran. His music sweeps you off your feet and takes you through a thrilling adventure full of danger and wonder.
During his set, footage from various Final Fantasy game cutscenes played in the background. Scenes of grandiose action and vast landscapes. It was a lovely compliment to the music. That, and the chainmail coif that he wore the entire time.
Glancing over to the right of the crowd, I saw someone filming the stage with one hand, and doing some kind of conducting with the other. As if they were composing a companion symphony to the one they were hearing. Towards the end, George Clanton stepped on stage and played a couple of songs with him, with the two of them ending the set with big smiles on their face. Truman and I looked at each other and nodded in silence.
Tears started to well in my eyes, and in that moment, everything felt right.
While we waited for the next performer, I decided to put that Fiji bottle to good use. I took it out of my bag and held it up in the light. The sun shines through the bottle, giving it a fantastic glisten. I didn’t think anything of it. I took the cap off and downed it in a few gulps. To be honest, that may have been the only Fiji bottle that I saw the entire night. Not even a can of Arizona Green Tea or a crisp Crystal Pepsi made an appearance. I’m sure the venue would be torn in half if they tried to sell overpriced cans of Arizona.
It was around this time that our fourth member, Donna, came to join us. She had just purchased her ticket earlier that morning, blind buying herself into an entire genre that she knew nothing about. Later in the evening, Truman would refer to her as a “trooper”.
The next performer that went up was desert sand feels warm at night. It was the set I was looking forward to the most, mainly because I sought to support this talented artist.
I could sense it in his movement that he was nervous – I would be too if I was playing my music live for the first time. As he got into the groove of things, he started to ease up and really manifest some magical moments. I was so happy to see him playing the keytar as well, something that made the set feel even more classy.
I know it’s hard to complain about this when you’re going to a place like Knockdown Center, but part of me would’ve loved to see a set like this in a quieter, more intimate space. If this guy was able to do a 90-minute set in the open air space in MASS MOCA or something, that would be incredible. Anyway, during his set there were two songs that I really enjoyed: 真夜中の太陽 (Midnight Sun) and 白鍵, 黒鍵 (White Key, Black Key). Both of these songs were incredibly moving live, and many of the emotions I had experienced in private immediately came rushing back. Tears started to well in my eyes, and in that moment, everything felt right. These didn’t feel like normal emotional responses though. Something was heightening the moment. Could it have been the chicken tibs from earlier? Or the estradiol shot that I gave myself that morning? “Something is up with that Fiji water,” I mentioned to Truman.
It was foreign territory, being in a communal space that was forged by way of shared observations via moments of introversion.
After giving compliments to Will for his beautiful performance, we immediately stepped outside to get some air. “Saoko, papi, Saoko,” Nadine said to us without context. She too had also attended this music festival without knowing what she was getting into. It was foreign territory, being in a communal space that was forged by way of shared observations via moments of introversion. Throughout the night, she would point at various things – a plant, an art piece, or someone’s outfit – asking very loudly “Is this vaporwave?” I told her that most of the stuff she was pointing at could probably be associated with the aesthetic of vaporwave.
On the balcony area we were standing, I looked over to see a massive line for the taco food truck. I was getting hungry but didn’t have the patience to wait for that food. As someone who grew up in San Diego, I still have a strong bias against the Mexican food that people make. I yearned for the warmth of a California burrito.
Our group then decided to break up for a little – Nadine and Donna walked around the venue while Truman and I waited in the merch line. As we waited, he received a couple of compliments for his Twin Peaks shirt. It was a lovely shirt, on top of being a great conversation starter. As we inches our way to the merch table, I could see my vision becoming more aberrated. Sounds felt like they were reverbing a lot more than usual, and my entire body was hit with a wave of hyperawareness. “That Fiji water is definitely kicking in now,” I said to Truman. He had taken something else that night, so he was experiencing a totally different high entirely.
After this point, the rest of the night begins to mesh and meld together. The balcony spot we were at earlier became out hang out spot for a good hour. We just chilled and listened to the music from afar. We watched the sunset there – the sky was full of wispy clouds and spellbinding gradients. I told my friends that it reminded me of the “in another room” corner of YouTube, where people will heavily distort songs in order to replicate the feeling of hearing it in a particular space.
Is this vaporwave?
Nadine returned with a couple of people that she had just met. This pair talked about the sets that they had enjoyed so far, as well as their admiration of all the outfits that people wore. Nadine, who was hopped up on who-knows-what, asked them questions about their backstory. The pair talked about working at the same yogurt store together in high school, and how one of them currently lives near Twede’s Cafe (known to Truman as the Double R Diner). They were then questioned on their relationship with each other, and whether or not it was romantic. Their response was very straightforward: “It’s kind of a nebulous thing.”
All this time, I wondered why these two people came over to talk to us. It wasn’t until the end of the conversation that the link was revealed – one of them was wearing a pair of pink shorts from King Spa, a location that Nadine had been to in recent months with her sister. The two then wished us well and disappeared into the night.
We then went back inside and danced around to Neon Indian’s DJ set. We jumped around in the back of the room, where we had space to dance and flail around. My mood was thrown off when I turned around to see someone with a bloody nose. It brought me back to reality for a moment. Two of their friends were beside them, scrambling to figure out what to do. They continued toward the bathroom, where they hopefully were able to clean up a little bit and get some paper towels. Even in moments of joy, danger still lurked nearby. I immediately felt the need to hydrate.
I wandered over to the bar, hoping that the lone bartender would oblige and fill up a glass of water for me. “Can I just get a glass of water, please?” The bartender nodded and rummaged under the counter for a second. He then brought out an ice-cold bottle of water, and placing it in front of me. Without saying a word, he held up an open hand. Five fingers. Five dollars. I rolled my eyes and regrettably handed him my credit card. What made it more disassociating was that he was wearing sunglasses. Memories of studying The Stanford Prison Experiment in community college came to mind. When I went back to Nadine, Donna, and Truman, we decided to walk around and see what else was going on.
We found a basement space in the venue where people sought a moment of respite.
The four of us nuzzled into a little corner and caught out breaths. The smell was pungent – an unnerving combination of stale humidity and festering mildew. “It feels like we’re waiting in line to ride Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland,” I said out loud. Truman cracked up at that one. We roamed past the area where a lot of people were smoking cigarettes, passing by a pair of people with long hair and black cloaks. Donna kept referring to them as “a couple of Nandors,” as if they had just flown in from 1262 to attend this festival.
Back at the outdoor stage, we caught a little bit of Saint Pepsi’s set. It was a fun throwback to being introduced to the genre for the first time. A lot of the songs I remember hearing back in that smoky garage years before. I scanned the crowd, seeing all the bodies jumping up and down to the beat. I had to squint when I saw a lone hand holding up a Nintendo DS, filming the performance. Nostalgia can take different forms in a place like this.
We ended up next to a column near the main stage. Truman and I, still experiencing waves of exaggerated stimuli, had a moment to do some people-watching. Saint Pepsi’s set had just ended, and everyone was rushing inside to get a good spot for George Clanton’s show. We admired the different types of people that passed by us. One thing that stood out to me is that there was a sizeable amount of visible trans folk in attendance. There were many people out here in really cute outfits, and admittedly, I was also one of these people. This put my soul at ease, because I sometimes can never tell if wearing an affirming outfit to a large event will be accepted or ridiculed. Thankfully, this day was more of the former rather than the latter.
I then realized that whatever was in that Fiji bottle was still working its way through my system.
Then, music began to start. George Clanton walked on stage, giving a thank you to the artists that played that evening, as well as all fans and makers of vaporwave around the world. His first song was a popular hit, “It Makes the Babies Want to Cry”. In that moment, something clicked in my head. “This is how it all makes sense!” I said to myself. Clanton, both in his music and on-stage persona, represent the ideal iconography for the “sad boi” stereotype. He himself said that he doesn’t try to be ironic with his music. He took it all in stride all as he threw a giant inflatable alien into the audience. Like all vaporwave artists, this performance was merely a conduit to a universal goal. Can the past be utilized as a tool to find peace and ease in the present?
At this point, we were wiped from the day. Our age was getting the better of us. We looked back at the food truck, still seeing a long line to order tacos. “Let’s find some sandwiches nearby,” Nadine suggested to us. That was the deciding factor. The plug was pulled, and we began to make our way out of the theater. As we walked out of the venue, we passed by the now empty outdoor stage. Roadies dressed in their show blacks were rolling cases off of the stage, getting the gear packed for the next gig. I looked up to see all the hanging stage lights, their displays still blinking in sync. My heart sank into my chest.
These lights were put to work the entire day at ElectroniCON, and all they can do is wait for their next command to come in.
Hopefully, as they travel to their next destination within the dark confines of their cases, they’ll be able to find some kind of freedom from their manufactured purpose. We walked toward the exit, hearing the echoes of Clanton’s set fade into the distance. I took a deep breath of fresh air, exhaling to the stars. The festival was over, but we weren’t out of the woods yet.
As soon as we stepped onto the street, the B57 pulled up. “All aboard the vapor train!” someone exclaimed. Our group immediately pivoted from looking for a bodega to getting on the bus to making our way back home. We hopped on and went straight to the back. My body was catching up, and I could feel myself loosen as the bus weaved through the night traffic. Next to me, someone was holding their phone out. “That was a good-ass time,” they said to no one. I turned, noticing that they had a vaporwave-themed jersey on, and wanted to know more. I gave them a quick recap of our evening when they asked what set I liked the most.
Then, they talked about the sets they enjoyed. Luxury Elite, VAPERROR, FM Skyline, most of their favorite sets were ones that I only heard a few degrees separated from the music itself. I asked the man “What is it that resonates most with you about vaporwave?” He replied, “The love of nostalgia and vice.” I then realized that whatever was in that Fiji bottle was still working its way through my system.
This bus felt too long for its own good, particularly when a pair of cops got on after we got a few stops into the trip. I tried to distract myself by talking with the man next to me. He held up his phone and scrolled through a music profile full of vaporwave albums. “See? I make vaporwave. It’s all vapor. I am vapor.” His willingness to showcase his work to me was met by my delirious indifference, but that didn’t stop him. He played a song loudly on his phone, trying to get the other people near us to get involved.
“Let’s keep this vapor train going!” No one said anything to him. I was too exhausted to say anything else. Realizing that the loneliness had caught up with him, he got up and rushed to the nearest exit. Once the doors opened, he took off into the night. “There goes another one,” I thought to myself. “Yet another desperate soul, lost to the vapor.”
In this perpetual state of flux, one can become whoever they desire to be.
We made our way back home, picked up some ingredients, then enjoyed some veggie burgers and loaded nachos at the dinner table. It was hard to get through the informal debrief we had without breaking out in hysterics. I had to stop eating at one point to finish chewing my food, or else I would’ve thrown up. We closed the night with a generously rolled spliff, looking out to the night sky. Inside the house, a vaporwave song emanated from the living room. It wasn’t even a few hours since we left Knockdown Center, but the memories had already started their journey to the past. Reminiscence, like a barrel-aged spirit, needs time to mature to its full form.
For me, nostalgia is the key ingredient with vaporwave. It doesn’t really matter if you remember things exactly how they happened, but how you remember them. Entropy and degradation occur in both physical and digital spaces. Just as the data on a DVD will decay over time, our memories housed in our minds will experience the same thing. Within this inescapable, natural occurrence, there’s a sense of acceptance that needs to be embraced.
This music genre and its community, have embraced this whole-heartedly. The realization that even if life (and our creations) are always fleeting, we can still enjoy them despite their ever-changing form. In this perpetual state of flux, one can become whoever they desire to be. As the spiritualist Gabi Abrão once said, “Freedom is exploring your own symbols and definitions again and again. It is knowing that the truth has already left the physical room, but sometimes it winks at you before it exits the doorway.”
To answer the question that began this story – “Who the hell is George Clanton?” – I suppose he’s just like everyone else. He has his own questions to answer, seeking to make some kind of sense of the world before it’s too late. We can only hope we can find those answers sooner rather than later.
