No Forks. Use Teeth
King Pizza Records End of Summer Psychic Luau
Written by Kyle Nutter
Photographs by Rick Perez
A blow-up palm tree stood in the shade of a small castle turret. Plastic leis with thin colored fringes perched on top of Hawaiian shirts, a crown on a collar. King County Distillery is a small castle-looking building near the Navy Yard in Brooklyn, and there was a party going on. Drooping tall sunflowers, next to a table with the rewards of a grill-out, rose above a brown overgrown garden. The meat positioned this as an unmissable BBQ.
It seems summer is obsolete without cooking food over an outside grill. During a hot summer people share so much in common with what they grill. I wonder if it’s from oblivion or unconscious replication of what we know. But it’s an energetic time. We need the sun, and we revel in its presence. The heat is freeing and equalizing. The sun bears down on us all. We expose our skin to the light, and for a portion of the year we can feel. Our senses are alive. The animal within us wakes. We become social.
There’s nothing that can awake sociability than a good party. King Pizza Records planned a psychic luau to celebrate the end of summer. This luau was high energy. Hawaiian shirts looked a shade darker from the sweat. It was feel good music with feel good energy. Summer rock music and complex guitar riffs got the crowd dancing. A primal response to basic instincts. The organizers of the event set the tempo with wild body movements and quick feet. There were seven bands playing 30 minute sets, and the transitions were smooth. Professionals. There wasn’t a single distracting element to reduce the celebration. The music was really good. All of it. One band weaved a faux narrative between songs, existing between two stories playing both parts. While people let their guards down around strangers, futures were told inside the castle-like distillery. A corner cove hid a reader revealing and rebuking destinies. The season change we all were resisting for want of endless summer is an irreversible one. It’s wise to align cosmic with the individual. I have no doubt people went home a little clearer.
As planned, the party climaxed with the last band. It was a second awakening. The day cooled to night, and with it came fresh air. The crowd erupted into a mosh pit for the entire set. Bodies throbbed, they growled and shrieked for the music. The group ceased to be composed of individuals. You could feel them with eyes and ears. The mosh pit rolled into one beast driven by music. It was creating its own world, freeing itself from reality. It was roaring, “Summer continues.”