As each generation enshrines the culture of our youth with significance, we are mourning our own lives. Youthful optimism preserved in amber.
I remember these parties and these people. This is the era that formed me. Seeing the culture through the eyes of a new generation is important. Humbling. Watching these kids watch Ron Hardy and Spiral Tribe like artefacts from another dimension feels moving in a way I’m struggling to convey.
There‘s been a litany of docs reminiscing about how fun and silly it all was, the colours and the gurning, but few have questioned the roiling currents beneath the hedonism.
God it was fun. At least for a bit. And it felt so important. Like the world was about to change. Like new paths were possible for us. Vans. Benders. Sites. Trucks. Only for a moment. Before we seemed to get sidelined by capitalism and money and property again. As before and so again.
Seeing this part of me through the prism of these kids. And how those paths don’t seem remotely possible to them. This feels so important. And sad. Bittersweet and optimistic.
Thanks Jeremy. Juan. David. Larry. Francois. Ron. So many Rons. All them cats too innumerable to list.