Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
Some people cannot be deterred. Juiceboxx, or the Milwaukee Maniac, however you'd like to address him, is one of those people. He'd determined to find all of the darkest points and fuck with them. He's resiliently self-destructive in songs, singing about characters who have chosen and will keep choosing the quickest path between where they are currently and where everything is on fire and barely recognizable as having been anything other than burning plastic, wood and flesh. The hallways that he walks us down are covered in a carpet that is nothing more than a soft catch-all for vomit, blood stains, piss and slobber that all come out after night after night after night after night after night of thrill-seeking. Who cares what's strewn about in the wake of it all when you're just going to sleep it off and tie it on for another go the following night, one that you're going to meet with desperation and wild anticipation, believing fully that this one is going to be even greater, more epic, and will result in twice as much vomit, blood, piss and slobber.
Juiceboxx songs seem to be party anthems, all coming from the Funderzone, and they are peopled by characters who are going to do questionable things in order to try to obtain favorable results. These nights are ripe for the picking, but there is something at the hearts of them that's darker material than was ever bargained for when they were being sought, when they were being pre-partied for. They are escapes from lackluster daily pursuits and they tend to amount to feeble attempts to fill the voids that have been steadily accumulating for a long while. These people are going to parties, already wasted, defeating much of the purpose of the party in the first place. It's just "another late night" coming at them, one that will lead to a hotel pool having to be drained and cleaned in the morning. These are the forgotten nights that everyone takes a few of, but here, they are the norm and they have their peaks and their falls. Everyone can feel them in the pits of their stomach and most of the time, you can sense when the next ones might be coming.
We still expect that most of the night will be memorable and alive. We expect that there will be chugging and high-fiving and someone will get on top of the piano. There will be laughter and there will be full disclosure. There will be the stumbling out the door and worried faces. But then, these people will show up again the next night and you'll think to yourself, "Well good, they can handle it." You'll worry less when you see them leave the next time, when they're likely headed for their familiar dark place, when all the fun has waned.