Do YOU know how magnets work, shithead? That's how I feel about people who make fun of Insane Clown Posse. Like bros, vegans and DJ's, ICP has become a go-to target for people for unfunny people who think they're funny. Even Troma movies make fun of them, and Troma fans (pointing at myself) are some of the most contrarian, unfuckable people on the planet.
I don't listen to ICP (except Chicken Huntin', I Want My Shit, Thy Unveiling, and The Neden Game. And Bitches) but I often find myself drunkenly defending them to people at bonfires. Their music might be grating, and they might make too many sex puns, but at the end of the day ICP is funnier and more interesting than 95% of the people making fun of them--and they have better taste in music, too is the gist of my arguement. It's rare for me to take the "anti-hater" position like that, but for some reason I always felt strongly about it. This autobiography, given to me by Nyquil after he lost my copy of SWEET JONES: PIMP C'S TRILL LIFE STORY, proves that these feelings are valid.
Raised on the sultry nocturnal sounds of Esham, Sir Mix-A-Lot, Geto Boys and Awesome Dre, The Insane Clowns are wiggers of the most endearing sort. They're wiggers from a time before the internet, when kids were beat up and socially alienated for being wiggers. It was a lot harder to copy black culture then. You couldn't just buy a Cam'ron shower curtain and start saying lit. As an unpopular person and obscure regional rap afficionado myself, I found this "early years" section of this book--usually the most tedious part of an autobiography--to be fascinating.
One problem with the book, which I'm remembering as this review gets longer and longer, is that it's too long. If you include the annotated discography, and the "what Psychopathic records means to me" section at the end (by everyone on the Psychopathic records roster), it's 596 pages. I suspect that the book wasn't "written" so much as dictated by Violent J, while he was high, and this technique makes for hilarious reading ("I was like, 'Whoa, this is the shit! Slash likes my song! The chick he fucks likes it, too.'") but 600 pages of reminiscince is a lot from any man. If I was the editor, I'd probably cut some of the wrestling stuff. And give it a better cover.
Ratings-wise, I have no choice but to give this 1/1 stars. BEHIND THE PAINT was funny, inspirational and full of rap gossip, and how much more can you demand from a book? You want it to have a neden?
FINAL SCORE: 1/1
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