Creative Non-Fiction and Non-Creative Fiction, #2

As you may recall, I’m occasionally called upon to wield my (ahem) mighty pen in the service of others. Not least among my authorial duties is crafting creator biographies for my various pals in the Wide World of Art.

One such individual is my longtime musical co-conspirator DJ Flip, a fellow I’ve never actually met in real life. Thanks to the Internet, we’ve collaborated on a number of songs (three, to be exact…three is a number, isn’t it?), and Flip has always been particularly proactive in spreading my tunes around as he slithers and slinks his way over the great open wastes of Europe, playing records for large groups of poorly dressed, intoxicated teenagers. Or whatever it is that he does.

Long story short, Flip is a busy man, and he’s also functionally illiterate (I made that last bit up). So it came as no surprise to me when he recently asked if I might favor him with a clever “bio” for his brand new group, The Filth Bags. Of course, I promptly declined, citing the fact that, on the scale of favors owed, the balance was decidedly weighted down on my side, and that he had better pony up if he ever wanted to work with me again. Flip must have sprinkled some kind of magical leprechaun dust on his increasingly desperate e-mails, because I appear to have written the damn thing anyway, despite my contrary intentions. And since no one he sends it to in the course of promoting his “career” will ever read it, I’m posting the Filth Bags’ biography here in hopes that someone else might—for a written word un-read is a tragedy, and I won’t be party to such willful neglect. And so, without further ado, may I present…


“Fuck you, jerks.”

We all know that insulting the reader is quite possibly the worst way to begin a biography. But when asked what message they hoped to convey with their music, this was the emphatic reply from The Filth Bags, Ireland’s newest export. And while you may be more familiar with Guinness or Jameson, The Filth Bags—ITF World Scratch Champion DJ Flip and ITF World Scratch Champion’s friend Richie Filth—contain up to three times more alcohol per volume.

While, historically, the Emerald Isle has produced its fair share of famous folk, and has long been admired as a fertile breeding ground for both toothlessness and grown men who believe in fairies, when it comes to producing native hip-hop giants…not so much. Until now…? Admittedly, I haven’t actually heard The Filth Bags’ music. But the fellas tell me it’s top notch, and hey, they both sound like Colin Farrell to me, so it’s easy to be convinced. They sure don’t LOOK like Colin Farrell, though…yuck.

Did you see that awesome movie The Commitments, the one about the Irish teenagers who start a Motown-style soul review? Or maybe you read the book? Liar, you didn’t even know it was a book. Anyway, The Filth Bags are like The Commitments, but with hip-hop! And with 80 percent fewer band members. But their live show gets the crowd reelin’ and rockin’ just the same, and when the boys hit their stride it’s not unusual to see tops coming off and nubile young chests being exposed (even if they belong largely to the lads themselves).

What else can you expect from a dangerous encounter with two knife-wielding hobosFilth Bags set? As emcee Richie Filth tears it down on the mic, DJ Flip manifests the finesse that won the world title, spinning stack after stack of hot hip-hop, electro, and dance party wax. (Among the few notes I received from the group regarding the contents of this bio, DJ Flip specifically requested that I mention his “dance party” records. Those were his exact words—“dance party.” Who talks like that?) And although this may make their concerts sound like an extended weekend in Ibiza, rest assured that “the shit is straight hip-hop, son” (according to Flip, anyway), and the only feature The Filth Bags have in common with a predominantly-gay party island is the massive amount of drugs they both take. And the whole gay party thing.

Look, by now you should have realized that The Filth Bags aren’t like all the other acts. With “rugged rhymes and beats born in the belly of urban Ireland” (again, who talks like that?), and a take-no-prisoners, party-or-die style that only a couple of booze-fueled sons of Erin could muster, The Filth Bags are poised to take over the world…or, at the very least, to sneak off and smoke a blunt in its bathroom. In short, this is a group that must be seen to be believed. And if you aren’t ready for the revolution, The Filth Bags only have one thing to say.

“Fuck you, jerks.”

Category: Creative Non-Fiction and Non-Creative Fiction, Grip Life


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