I choke on the sticky wet air inside HQ before I’ve even entered the building. The venue is vibrating in anticipation as the members of Horse Bitch finish setting up for their performance at Blucifer’s First Rodeo. I linger in the back with Paul and Anthony of Denverse Magazine and consider backing out, not sure if I’m in the mood to wear the sweat and spilled beers of the massive crowd. That is, until the music begins and the room explodes into wild ecstasy, and I remember I’d promised myself that if the opportunity arose, I’d have my first crowdsurfing experience at this brand-new festival, created by artists, for everyone. The craze of the moment overtakes me, and I shove my way forward into the eye of the storm, rubbing slick shoulders with a bunch of strangers who, at least for the duration of the show, become my closest friends. Sometimes, when the pit calls, you must answer.
Blucifer’s First Rodeo is the latest effort from a collective of humble and hardworking musicians, pioneered by lead organizers Gillian Pasley and Mike Young, who sought to create an honest experience for the bands, venues, purveyors, and patrons of Denver’s independent music scene. When the Underground Music Showcase announced its relocation to the RiNo neighborhood, the Bluce team planted itself on South Broadway (and beyond!), dividing the talent of 260 artists across five DIY spaces, 17 Broadway bars, and 20 Baker-neighborhood homes.
I asked Denverse if I could have first dibs on festival coverage back in April. I kept up with new announcements and did my best to make it to a couple pre-fest activations at HQ and Wax Trax, and two days before Blucifer’s First Rodeo kicked off on July 23rd, I messaged their Instagram and asked if more help was needed with setup, to which Mike swiftly responded, “YES! Can you be at Blossom House on Thursday at 4pm?” And soon I was assisting a group of organizers by decorating the space with artificial flowers, juggling blue balloons like soccer balls until I popped two by mistake.
As the festival approached, I spent lots of time organizing how I would conserve my energy to maximize my reportage, but Blucifer had other plans for me. Walking out of Squirm Gallery around 9:00pm later that Thursday with the intention of getting to bed early, I get a text from my friend who I thought wasn’t attending the fest.
"Are you at Seventh Circle right now?”
“I’m not…” I reply. “Are you…????”
"My friend is playing here, I had no idea until he texted me last minute… you should come!”
I take a deep breath and make a choice. In the spirit of grassroots labors of love, this weekend has to be about letting go and saying yes.
And so I embark on my mission toward total immersion, accruing 60,000 steps in four nights, completely in service to catching a vibe. As it rains on my way to see Nina de Freitas at Bar 404, the thunderclaps boom so loud they take my breath away. I boogie alone to Savage Blush, Ritmo Cascabel, In Plain Air, Insipidus. I dap up Bruhas-frontman Fabian Guerrero and trade affirmations at Dogtags; I have many shots of tequila; I get caught up in a crowd chattering about maybe having seen former Nickelodeon star Drake Bell wearing a green sports coat. (When I accompany my friends in Witches & Science into the lounge downstairs at La Foret, we walk past Mr. Bell, and I quietly tell him his fit is fire, to which he looks straight ahead and says “Thanks.” Score!)
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“These guys fuck!” Blucifer artist Inaiah Lujan says to me between grind-punk GUNK! songs at D3, the band’s vocalist Willie bouncing between snarling the lyrics to “Femicide” and batting their long lashes at the audience. Inaiah and I slip into a salsa two-step during one of the five-piece’s groovy interludes. I just met him for the first time back at Seventh Circle, and for the remainder of the weekend he is my checkpoint friend.
“We hadn’t actually applied for Blucifer. One of the organizers saw us perform at 7C and asked if we wanted to play,” says GUNK! bassist Birdy during a phone call two days after their Bluce set. As they began load-out, I asked to see a setlist. I took my pick from four handwritten ones, the only variation between them being drawings of different-sized-and-shaped boobs.
GUNK! is a hardcore punk ensemble of scary-sweet femme rockers, half of the members Chicano and/or black. In the spirit of Blucifer, GUNK! believes in the power of paying it forward, knowing that amid all the logistics of playing or organizing a live show, there’s someone in the audience who needs it.
“Sometimes I don’t realize what impact I’m making until a queer, black, femme, or whatever person tells me. It reminds me, ‘Hey, I’m really doing it.’ And when they see me doing it, it reminds them that they can do it, too. It’s shit like that that makes me wanna cry!” says Birdy.
For house-show host Jim Abraham, whose home saw performances by Big Dopes, BRUHA, and the Mañanas, infusing the residential areas around him with the cultural creativity that seemed to have been lost is an opportunity he wears with pride.
“Baker has historically been a place of culture. It was a gay neighborhood, it was a Latino neighborhood, and we’ve admittedly lost some of that edge through gentrification. So I was really excited to help bring some of it back,” says Abraham.
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It’s the spirit of service to something greater than yourself, the current of history-making through bad weather, damaged gear, clogged venue toilets with ancient plumbing, and delayed start times that make community-driven events like Blucifer’s First Rodeo so awe-inspiring. The core of any strong culture is a deep sense of allegiance and care for one another, an enthusiastic mix of faith and trust. Maybe that’s why I saw so many folks smiling with every muscle in their face; maybe that’s why that final joyous show at TrashHawk Tavern felt like a family reunion, and why I didn’t need to remember anyone’s name, knowing that the next time I ran into them outside of Hi-Dive or Imported Mechanics, we’d embrace like we really meant it.
Belle Mason, who performed at the Baker neighborhood shows on Sunday, believes that art and creation are acts of humility, saying, “I really feel that we have a social responsibility to share in order to keep creating a world that is grounded in love.”
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Back at Horse Bitch that Saturday night, I tell several audience members that I have never crowd surfed before, and in an instant, they all shift their attention to making it happen, giving me instructions, turning to their friends, and shouting into their ears and pointing up toward the ceiling. I step on the edge of the stage and lean back. I keep my orange-rimmed sunglasses on to try and conceal my nerves, but still I’m grinning ear to ear. I float across the gentle hands below me reaching out for someone to hold, eager to take care, and while holding myself in a hug, I say a silent prayer of gratitude. I won’t know it till later, but several people capture photos and videos of this moment, my first, among many firsts that inaugural Bluce weekend. This, I think, is what heaven feels like.
