Little Big: camp, outrageous Russian rave
If camp is the zeitgeist, then Little Big can definitely be categorised as such. The Russian rave band who have catapulted to cult popularity are currently on tour throughout Europe and US. I caught them last night in Berlin, in what can only be described as one of the most bizarre yet compelling gigs I have ever experienced.
I was first indoctrinated into the Little Big fandom after coming across their song Skibidi. It reached viral success and even spurred a global dance craze as the #skibidichallenge. It was so popular that they later released a romantic version of Skibidi, which has just as many views as the original and is a work of art in its own right.
Little Big have been dubbed the Russian Die Antwood, but actually they are more like 2019’s answer to Aqua mixed with the dirty energy of the Prodigy. Around since 2013, the members hail from St. Petersburg. Some describe them as pop, some as dubstep, but rave is really the only category that can be loosely used because their music does not transcend genres — rather, they have interpreted rave in its every genre. Although great performers, they are not skilled enough to combine genres to create their own flair — instead, every song they played was a different genre. We had pop in the form of Lolly Bomb; dubstep in Dead Unicorn and AntiPositive; skate punk in Fucking Asshole; gabba house in AK-47. It was weird, as the genre changes didn’t seem to confuse their audience at all. I wondered — are their fans just too young to distinguish between all these genres? Are Little Big rigging the music scene to cater to the internet consumer whose references are so blurred they respond only to bands and not scenes? Despite flitting between genres, the only consistency Little Big had was a foundation of that particular flavour of happy hardcore that only Eastern Europeans can do. It’s eurotrash and we love it.
I would argue that that Little Big has the potential to become Russia’s most interesting musical export. A little band with a big presence, they’re wonderfully weird and musically-talentless, but it doesn’t matter because as performers they do bad music so well. It seemed like the whole audience was waiting for Skibidi, but when it arrived the crowd didn’t go wild, Little Big didn’t tear up the stage. Instead, the commitment to doing the dance routine, and the uniformity that fell upon the crowd was mesmerizing, if not surprising compared to the punk energy they had through the rest of their set. After Skibidi, I assumed most people would disappear to the bar, but the energy cranked back up to 100 as groups in the crowd sang along to every word. It was here I realised, that Little Big are so much more than Skibidi. This is 2019 — camp, genre-bending, post-ironic fun.
