So where were we when the lights went up? Right, moonbootica, the Hamburg
boys with the big cochones and cowboy walk. Two tall posers with dark
shades, big gobs and the throttled charm of Porsche owners. Shoe size?
Or are they? Is Clark Kent really Superman? Was Bertha Butt's butt really
bigger than George Clinton's mothership? Did King Kong ever get lovesick?
And what if he didn't, she wasn't, they weren't? Was the whole thing a
devious trick designed to spread fun and games?
moonbootica just wanna have fun, first off. No wonder they do their best to
cover up their good education, slipping effortlessly into the role of party
animals, Manowar of the dancefloor, propagating ecstatic panic in the
disco. Like Caligula must have felt back in the days when he re-wrote the
book on partying hard right on thru to da next level. moonbootica may not
be living Gods but their fun can be our fun too.
Their disdain for the elevation of their own intellectual heights and the
obligatory mindfuck thus implied, resisting the symphonic rush and
meticulous beat mode, koweSix and tobitob prefer to juggle with apparent
trifles such as an in-yer-face bass drum. CHACK-BOOM-CHACK-BOOM. Let's face
it, at the end of the day, when night casts its shadow over the
battlefields of pleasure, intelligent theories and descriptive talons are
no more than propagandist lies begging to be smashed by deliberate
polarisation and proletarisation.
moonbootica allow themselves the freedom to do just whatever they want to
do. Without bothering to ask for permission. As they ascend their own
personal escalator to the stars, they are, simultaneously, their own
protectors of their powers. As you like it. Or to be more exact, as they
like it. Far removed from the servitude of cavernous discotheques for the
hoi polloi, they remain progressive to the mark. Ye beg to differ? Well
take a closer look at the past six years of their development and you will
recognise the intensity of their hunger, the undying urge to burst open the
gates to euphoria.
Whether as DJs or musicians, moonbootica's basic principle is to get the
most out of ultimate simplicity. This can be seen less in their choice of
blunt weapons as in the clarity - you might say crystal - of their method.
The crowd gets it instinctively. Doesn't matter where they are or from
whence they came, it works in russian mafia clubs, it works in
overpoweringly aromatic mediterranean gin palaces.
Their stylistic playfulness can be attributed to the duo's biologically
determined fatalism: "When you're six foot six, you just can't fit into any
pigeon holes." Ah, what cultured self-mockery. And a nice little aside to
the projected delusions of grandeur one may be confronted with when meeting
the charm-schoolers for the first time. For anyone who still fails to see
that moonbootica are more than the sum of their provocations, a double dose
of the mix album "DJ Sounds Good" ('04) and the eponymous studio album
"MOONBOOTICA" ('05) should do the trick. Putting the fun into funambulists.