Screenshot from "money machine"

100 Gecs / Gabe Howell

Screenshot from "money machine"

March 16, 2020

How You Become a 100 Gecs Fan

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The following is a completely hypothetical series of events. It is applicable to literally everyone. You think you can escape 100 gecs. And maybe you can. But most of us are not so lucky.

Phase 1

It seems like a normal evening.You’re sitting at your best friend’s kitchen table, doing homework and listening to the sweet, familiar indie pop you both know and love. You are right at home; it’s comfortable. Suddenly, your best friend interrupts: “Have you heard of 100 gecs?” No. You haven’t — they’re a well-kept secret. But not for long. They get up to put on 100 gec’s best track, “stupid horse.” They don’t even bother putting it in the queue. They skip right to it. It opens with a growing electronic whir, like a laser charging up or an alien spacecraft taking off. You’re starting to get a little bit scared as a voice drops in with a rowdy “pick it up.” Immediately following this exclamation, another voice comes in. It sounds like “Crazy Frog” or Alvin and the Chipmunks, but somehow it’s even more high energy. You tune in to decipher the lyrics, a chronicle of betting on a horse race: “So I found the fucking jockey and I grabbed that / pushed him down to the ground and I punched him in his face.” You shudder at the song.

Phase 2

The next day you get a message from your crush. They’re really pretentious about music, but in an almost charming way. You still aren’t sure. They bring up 100 gecs. “Twice in one day,” you think. “What are the odds?” You disclose that you aren’t the biggest fan of their music, expecting some sympathy. But no. They think 100 gecs is great. “Stupid horse” is one of their favorites. Now your head is spinning. Could it be that you are the one with bad taste?

Phase 3

Now you’re determined to give it another shot. You run through the 23 minutes of cacophony that is their 2019 album “1000 gecs” a few more times. Sometimes it’s painful and you don’t make it through. But then one day something happens. You’re singing along. “Hey you little piss baby / you think you’re so fucking cool, huh?” You’re yelling to no one in particular. “Aw look at those arms/ your arms look so fucking cute they look like little cirgerettes,” and now you’re into it. “I bet I could smoke you, I could roast / And then you’d love it and you’d text me ‘I love you’ and then I’d fucking ghost you,” you sing at the top of your lungs. Something has changed.

Phase 4

Now you’re analyzing lyrics and discovering new things at every turn, like the meaning of boof (taking drugs up your ass) and texting friends left and right about the earworm “hand crushed by a mallet.” Then it happens for the first time. You recommend 100 gecs to someone new for the first time. Your friend is into exclusively experimental hip hop jazz, so you figure he’s a safe bet. He hates it. Your soul is crushed by a mallet, if you will. But you see your naive former self in him. You know his 100 gecs journey has just begun. And in a few weeks, he’ll return to you and confess that he has been converted. You’ll discover that your younger sister has been playing “gec 2 U” on repeat. You’ll put Ringtone remix on at Loco and watch the whole place light up. And you’ll continue to spread the manic magic of your favorite indie electronic punk pop duo to the world.

 

Anna Canny is a junior in the College of Agricultural Life and Sciences. She can be reached at aec272@cornell.edu.