PLUGGED IN. TURNED UP. TURNED OUT. BUGAA IS THERE.
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PLUGGED IN. TURNED UP. TURNED OUT. BUGAA IS THERE.
Born Chevis Angular Hermb, the man now known as BUGAA woke one morning in the intensive care unit of Can Misses Hospital on the island of Ibiza with no memory. The only items in his possession were some vintage 1950’s era office clothes and a VISA gift card that had a balance of nearly seven hundred thousand U.S. dollars. Despite this huge sum of money, Immigration would not allow him to leave the island as he had no identification, and so he began the effort of trying to piece together his past and in doing so would eventually construct a new identity for himself.
His ready access to cash proved to be a calamitous distraction. Instead of using the funds to investigate and resolve his dilemma he was lured into a lifestyle of decadent luxury by constant acts of commerce. He stumbled into securing an illicit ID from an unscrupulous Vodaphone dealer who sold him a brand-new iPhone 7 with pre-loaded personal details; birthdate, DNI number, address etc. which allowed him to further access, and participate in every action of ‘buy’ that he could, enrolling in and upgrading every plan and service that he encountered. He would get ‘auto-pay’ and would love weird tricks and hacks. The intoxicating allure of ‘download',’ ‘double-click’ and ‘flash sale’ drew him in to live-chat situations that would dissuade most, but he was undeterred and soon found himself drowning in a world of convenient free credit checks and no ads.
Most of all, he was captured by the world’s most “best of” party scene. Something about the club drew him in; illusory or not, he felt that he might find some sort of answer in its hedonistic excess. A cadre of hangers-on and sycophants followed in his wake as he ambled from party to party deepening his dilemma as he slid further into a life of dancing and co-dependence.
At times, when the music was so loud and so pumping, he would close his eyes, and a bright flash would explode in his mind. He would see the word “BUGAA” burned into his vision, in wild, psychedelic colors overlayed on whatever he looked at. He looked at the people: “BUGAA.” He looked at the lights: “BUGAA.” He looked at the DJ: “BUGAA.”
BUGAA is a DJ, he thought. BUGAA is a music man, he thought. BUGAA is a life, he thought. Maybe I am BUGAA.
“MY LIFE!” he declared.
His opportunistic entourage was only too happy to oblige his delusional fantasies.
So much champagne and lights flashing. Music bumping and dancing. The V dancing and the infamous VM-7.3 Dance, the late nights and early mornings. Until one day, many months later, his VISA gift card finally ran out of funds and the crowd that followed him around dissipated like the fog on a dance floor at 4 in the morning. So, there he was, no money, no legitimate identification, alone and abandoned without any hope of leaving the island and no closer to discovering his past than when he had started.
In lucid waking dreams, he was haunted by kaleidoscopic flashes of the beach, the club, the people, and the moonlit sky. Faces and sounds danced just out of reach, while strange machines lingered on the edge of his vision, vanishing when he turned his head, leaving only the echoes of big band era jazz on the sweet Ibiza breeze. Feverish nightmares of his former selves—a baby, a bartender, an automotive detailer, a soldier, a scientist, an explosion—twisted through his mind, their nonsensical jumble leaving him more and more confused. Yet, with resolve, he forced himself back to sleep on the indifferent Ibiza streets, whispering his mantra into the night: “I am BUGAA.”
One day, while searching for food in a wastebin, he found an OKARI FLIN DX-95a CD Mix Master and a few random CDs amongst the rubbish. He couldn’t believe his good fortune, “I AM BUGAA!” He yelled out. Minutes of desperate wandering brought him to the KFC on the Avinguda d'Ignasi Wallis where he found an electrical outlet under an unoccupied booth and plugged in his new-found gear. To his great delight the OKARI powered up and BUGAA began to TURN IT UP for anyone who would listen.
And who listened? They ALL did. Word spread across the island and within an hour the streets were overflowing with thousands of people, all clamoring to feel the sounds emanating from the KFC, emanating from BUGAA. Said one partygoer; “Food taste and quality like what I expected. Matches brand perfectly! I had trouble placing my order and the person who helped me was extremely patient and friendly. The soda did not have a lot of carbonation, and I didn't know that the cheese lovers had blue cheese on it. I really don't like blue cheese! But I took off the cheese and it was still very good by itself! The fries were not good, but I haven't found good fries in Spain. It's been hard to find food that has GOOD FLAVOR so I'm grateful to have found this place! ALSO, the music was SO LOUD and great! What a nice surprise, did not expect that! Now, I LOVE BUGAA!”
Instead of shutting BUGAA down and running him out of his store, KFC manager Blaron Fint felt he had a potentially lucrative situation on his hands, and called up YUM! Brands CEO David Gibbs to appraise him of the situation. “Thousands of people!” He told Gibbs, “Thousands of people, dancing; dancing and eating KFC, we’re almost COMPLETELY SOLD OUT OF MASHED POTATOES!” Gibbs could smell that BUGAA money ALL THE WAY in Kentucky and instructed Fint to keep BUGAA in the store and his music spinning at ALL COSTS. Gibbs assured Fint that he would personally see to it that his store was restocked as soon as possible and then went online to guitarcenter.com and ordered every piece of DJ and recording equipment that he could find and had it all shipped, express to Ibiza.
Fint immediately told BUGAA that YUM! Brands wanted BUGAA to reside in the KFC and that his needs would be taken care of as long as he kept the party going, BUGAA said “YES!”
Soon, KFC-BIZA, as it became known, was the HOTTEST, most IN-DEMAND club in the entire Mediterranean region. From Croatia to Libya, All other clubs began to shut down for lack of clientele. And though many clubs tried to imitate the formula by partnering with other fast-food restaurants, none could match the incredible combination of fried chicken and BUGAA that was blazing away, night and day at KFC-BIZA.
The party went ALL NIGHT. The party went ALL DAY. When he could, BUGAA would sleep under one of the tables in a corner of the restaurant while his OKARI ran on a loop, the people didn’t seem to care, they danced with a ferocity that could be read on seismographs on far away geological research stations. In fact, Italian Scientists on the island of Stromboli were initially worried about a potential volcanic catastrophe until they were informed that it was the result of KFC-BIZA.
Soon the new gear and mashed potatoes began to arrive. BUGAA began to craft his own brand of music, music that reflected who he WAS, or, who he THOUGHT HE WAS. Music of DANCING. Music of COMMERCE. Music of LOVE.
PLUGGED IN. TURNED UP. TURNED OUT. BUGAA IS THERE. KFC-BIZA IS THERE. THE MUSIC IS THERE. BUGAA IS MUSIC. BUGAA IS LIFE.
