by PH Mazza
The story behind “Fake Artists”, although still recent, dates back to mid 2019 where I was invited to go to one of those hipster parties in an abandoned loft called “Solar dos Abacaxis”, something that the artistic bourgeoisie loves to turn into a stage for events (kind of like a reference to the Berlin experience, but which is already dated by the clichéd pedantry of this same privileged/intellectual bubble).
Listen to the song while reading the text.
Drunk to be able to deal with the whole bourgeois horror show and unconcerned with the reality of those beings, I looked around, where I noticed there wasn’t any black person, something that, in a country like Brazil where most of the population is black and poor, denounces the obvious: poor people don’t enter these privileged, select and hypocritical spaces where these people who claim to be the intellectual avant garde of their generation propose.
Returning home, I wrote down what would become the draft of the lyrics for the present song.
At the same time, I believe one week later, I went to the house of a great friend of mine, Rô Martins, where we would produce my first demos.
At first we were going to record another song but, given the urgency that the theme was in my head, spinning and spinning, and the fact that I had made a melodic sketch of the song a few hours before the recording, we decided to go ahead with what would become the demo of “Fake Artists”.
Years after the conception of this demo, I added to the feeling of the song my own experience with the carioca artistic bubble (Rio de Janeiro), where I found a scene full of clear privileges given to children of artists and people whose heredity of being elite, like a nobility or caste, command the scene to exclude any people who try, speak or act different from their bourgeois superficiality, where smelling the other’s ass is the essential rule, like its atomic nucleus, something I never had the stomach to swallow/adapt myself.
Believing it to be a universal theme, this song, being a success or failure, is an attempt to denounce and go against all the tackiness, sociopathy and narcissism of this bunch of bozos who run the artistic bubbles around the world.
Andy Warhol is dead and the Parisian/cinematic blasé of them all deserve the same end so a new generation of less crude and segregating people can take their place.