GAYDAR: Octoberfist VI Reviewed

BY AARON STELLA GAYDAR EDITOR The Dumpster players are, in short, a mad mob togged in trash-picked threads bent on inciting worldwide pandemonium. Nobody is safe; everybody is ripe for parody. I have attended almost every DP performance in the past year, but it wasn’t until last night’s “Octoberfist VI” celebration, the sixth of the DPs biannual fist-fest of Pan-European song and dance, that I witnessed their awesome power. Hail Satan! And despite the supervening night-o-da-Phillies, once the game ended and crowds flooded the streets, the majority of B&B’s patrons remained. Incredible. Again, another testament to theDP’s patent reputation. Contained within the caricature compost of “Octoberfist” were gaggles of gypsy queens, bare-chested pirates (Ricky Paul, the DP’s founder Fuhrer of the Farrago included), Farrah Faucet stumbling around to a drunken ditty while two pirates intermittently sexed her, and much more. Whether maudlin balladry or melodious scores set to thumping techno, the Dumpsters delighted with their ageless brand of snarky ribaldry. One act, however, stood out most in my mind: that of an old-fashioned romance between a urinal and a sink unfolded in subtly but unmistakable salacity—the urinal, gobbling down urinal cakes, and the sink, flaunting her buxom, porcelain whites. Every “Octoberfist” performance tells a story about a working class forced to shoulder the despotic yoke of vast oppression. But always in the end, the proletariat “raises their fists in solidarity” (“Octoberfist”) and soldier on despite all odds: the finale was a euphoric song that writhed and twisted in its own dumpstery, juicy glory; and the DPs filled the hearts of every audience member with it (eww). Banging show folks. Gotta catch ’em next time if you missed last night’s. I’ll be there, and so should you.