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Technoviking's Pale Appeal
The living, breathing, tranced-out essence of Primal Euro-Man
For those who've just joined me, he's the stomping avenger protecting the honor of the Blue-Wigged girl on a great vid that's all over the net. He was marching in the 2000 Fuck Parade in Berlin when the filmmaker captured him and created the immortal footage, Kneecam #1. And millions of hits have followed. Technoviking has a fan base as broad as his chest. He's created buzz to equal (more like surpass) the general buzz that most likely pervaded the youth of Berlin on that day seven years ago.
So what is the appeal of Technoviking? I've been grabbed by plenty a drunk and I can tell you, if some giant, scary-looking Viking guy went after the shithead who went after me, I'd have been thrilled. And if he decided to go have a word with the guys running a chainsaw 24-7 across the way, fine. But take your own ego out of it and what are you left with? Something rare. The living, breathing, tranced-out essence of Primal Euro-Man.
I'm not talking WWF here, or ultimate fighting (incidentally, he's been mistakenly identified as a similarly pectoraled blond American fighter, but he's not). But when Technoviking marches forward, involved in his own e-fantasy, head high and pale muscles rippling, he's got a slightly faraway look to those Nordic eyes, as if he imagines he's really protecting his tribe from heathen invaders in the Black Forest, trudging through peat and hungry for wild boar. Forget James Bond. Forget the Euro. Forget Euro Gap. Forget the sleek lines of the new Mercedes. Forget everything technological and sleek. Here's Western European testosterone, unadulterated except for whatever chemicals make him able to dance like that. He's like an ancient material still in use. He's like the felt and leather they choose to use in the workshops of Austrian artisans Working Class Heroes.
So what is the appeal of Technoviking? I've been grabbed by plenty a drunk and I can tell you, if some giant, scary-looking Viking guy went after the shithead who went after me, I'd have been thrilled. And if he decided to go have a word with the guys running a chainsaw 24-7 across the way, fine. But take your own ego out of it and what are you left with? Something rare. The living, breathing, tranced-out essence of Primal Euro-Man.
I'm not talking WWF here, or ultimate fighting (incidentally, he's been mistakenly identified as a similarly pectoraled blond American fighter, but he's not). But when Technoviking marches forward, involved in his own e-fantasy, head high and pale muscles rippling, he's got a slightly faraway look to those Nordic eyes, as if he imagines he's really protecting his tribe from heathen invaders in the Black Forest, trudging through peat and hungry for wild boar. Forget James Bond. Forget the Euro. Forget Euro Gap. Forget the sleek lines of the new Mercedes. Forget everything technological and sleek. Here's Western European testosterone, unadulterated except for whatever chemicals make him able to dance like that. He's like an ancient material still in use. He's like the felt and leather they choose to use in the workshops of Austrian artisans Working Class Heroes.
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