July 13 - Get in the Van

Funk: the
Ultimate
Chaos
Kick-starter
If they had a mantra, that was it. That's why most people called them the F.U.C.K. 7.
Otherwise known as the Clowns of Chaos.
Otherwise known as Brothers from the Anarchic Planet.
aka Co-conspirators from the Land of Funk.
aka the Seven Samurai, the Magnificent Seven, the Unlucky Seven, the Merry Funksters.
Seven of the deadliest funk assassins the world has ever known--or not known. Their identities were a mystery. No website, no schedule, no nothing.
Their MO was simple: show up unannounced and in disguise at corporate shareholders' meetings, political rallies, commercial sets, and press conferences. Take the stage. Overpower the proceedings. Steal the spotlight and blast everyone through the back of the room with funked up New Orleans brass reworkings of stick-it-to-the-man anthems (Anarchy in the UK, Killing in the Name, Fight the Power, etc.) and then leave as quickly as they'd arrived.
No amps. None needed. Brass is loud.
And portable. By the time the police/security arrived, they'd be gone, leaving behind a swath of anti-status quo flyers, pamphlets, leaflets, misinformation, disinformation, and piss-information, which isn't even a word, which is why it fit the F.U.C.K. 7 perfectly. Their aim wasn't to make sense, it was to make chaos.
Their politics were a mystery. Everything was a target. Conservative, liberal, communist, capitalist, red state, blue state. Everything had a bulls eye on its back.
They were thorough. Meticulous anarchists, which should have been an oxymoron but wasn't.
Abandoned getaway vans with the windows painted black would be found later on, wiped clean of all fingerprints. Registered to Mickey Mouse, George Bush, Yo-yo Mama.
Near the scene of the disruption: discarded brass instruments with planted fingerprints and saliva traced back to death row inmates, the college age daughters of senators, and high ranking clergy. More pranks.
But who were they?
Nobody knew.
They always showed up in different thematic uniforms: ninjas, utility workers, Wall Street traders, bike messengers, clowns, Japanese anime characters.
Always with masks with mouth holes cut out so they could play.
But otherwise impossible to identify.
Copycats? Not often. Why? They could play. This made them impossible to copy, even though lesser musicians tried occasionally. Or maybe it was the real F.U.C.K. 7 pretending to be copycats to throw people off their scent.
In the Venn Diagram that shows where world class brass funkateers intersects with unflinching anarchist pranksters and tireless chaos creators, well, there is no intersection. The F.U.C.K. 7 shouldn't have existed.
And yet they did.
And yet they do.
And there's no telling where they'll hit next.