The Amazing Disappearing Re-Appearing Narnia
Photo by Jack Gould>>> So what did happen to the much-hyped, 30,000-capacity Narnia rave, anyway? Billed as a three-day, multi-DJ, multiarea event with such extracurricular activities as fireworks, bungee jumpers, balloon rides, skate demos and graffiti muralists, Narnia certainly looked promising in the weeks leading up to its original Sept. 15 to 17 dates. It did seem ominous that Narnia promoters kept the event location a secret—a tactic traditionally used by rave organizers when they don't have permits, but one that's fallen out of favor in recent years. All people were told in advance was that it was to be at someplace called the Green Valley Ranch, and that it was (as the fliers put it) "centrally located between LA and San Diego, with easy freeway access." We figured somewhere near Temecula. To get the exact locale with directions, rave-goers —who had paid between $20 and $30 a ticket—were told to call one of the special hot-line numbers on Sept. 15, Narnia's opening day. But when that day came around, callers were greeted with a happy-sounding voice recording on the other end informing them that Narnia wasn't announced in advance because it was being held at a "nudist colony," and the nekkid people wanted to maintain their privacy as much as possible. Hmmm. And despite earlier promises, there were no directions to Narnia—instead, callers were told to phone back the next day, which was another sign of trouble since the event was supposed to have begun the night before that. Double hmmm. When anxious ravers dialed the Narnia hot lines the next day, they heard a more somber-sounding voice saying the fest had been postponed because—and this is where things get really strange—it was being held on an Indian reservation but one of the tribal elders had passed away the previous week and the tribe had asked promoters to delay their party until Sept. 30. We know what you're thinking: A Native-American nudist colony? "I don't believe that thing about the Indian dying," says Ron D Core of Dr. Freecloud's Mixing Lab in Costa Mesa, who had been scheduled to spin a set at Narnia. That POV is likely shared by more than a few of the 700 people who bought Narnia tickets at Dr. Freecloud's; Ron says he's received several complaints from ticket buyers, but he's reassured them, telling people to hold on to their tickets. So what happened? Sources contacted by the Weekly say they'd heard there were problems with securing the location for Narnia—wherever the hell it was—as early as the Tuesday before the event, which points to a permit issue. The same source suggests further that the postponement was done for financial reasons—that there was too much competition from Oracle 3, a hip-hop-heavy rave that took place the same weekend in San Bernardino, and that Narnia organizers were looking to maximize their profits by holding off their event. (At press time, representatives from Global Underground, the organization promoting Narnia, hadn't returned calls from the Weekly.) Narnia is still scheduled to go on, though it has once again been postponed—this time until the weekend of Oct. 14, the best date for most performers and DJs, according to the latest hot-line message. Buzz one of the hot lines now—the local numbers are (714) 780-8772 and (714) 780-9019—and you'll hear the happy-sounding voice inform you that Oct. 14 is a "for-sure final date"; that complete directions to the Narnia site will appear on their website (www.narniafestival.com) and hot lines beginning this Sunday, Oct. 1; and that there'll still be "10-foot-high raging bonfires, free marshmallows, hot-air balloon rides and all the other dope stuff we promised and more. While postponing our event kinda sucked, we now feel everything must have happened for a reason and maybe this was meant to be. We get an extra month to make things even doper for you, so thanks for your patience—and peace."
>>>WHEN GOOD BASSISTS GO MAD What do you do when your band breaks up? Join another band? Go solo? Drown your sorrows in a reckless binge of drugs, sex and alcohol? Richard Kappemeir, former bassist of popular-but-splintered local band Dr. Awkward, chose a different coping method: he's building a killer robot. Kappemeir's creation, which bears the Beatlesesque moniker Mr. Mustard, is shaping up like one of the mechanical stars of Comedy Central's BattleBots. "I still have to make the motor-control system, the collision detectors [bumpers], the infrared anti-collision system and the ultrasonic ranging system for long-range vision," says Kappemeir, sounding like quite the techno-geek. "And I have to learn how to program and install the 'brain.'" Ahh, the brain. Despite joining another as-yet-unnamed band, Kappemeir remains faithful to his robot, which he intends to use for "robot-boxing, cat-chasing, apartment-exploring via my PC and a small CCD camera I've mounted in the front, and maybe world domination. I could be an Evil Overlord!" (Victor D. Infante)
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