Ghosts of the Gathering, Or, Nova Rockefeller's Curious Evolution
As a big fan of pop art and pop culture, I dig Gallery 1988. It perfectly suits my sensibility.
I also enjoyed Kanye West Owes Me 300 Dollars, a memoir by Jensen Karp, the owner of Gallery 1988. It’s an unflinching exploration of Karp’s surreal experiences as a precocious white rapper renowned for his battle rap skills, although, as Karp himself acknowledges, a lot of what passed for battling was exchanging homophobic insults.
I liked Kanye West Owes Me 300 Dollars because it was funny, honest, and self-deprecating. It is a book about failure, a subject I find endlessly fascinating despite never having experienced it myself.
I wrote glowingly about Kanye West Owes Me 300 Dollars for my Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club at The A.V. Club.
I’m not sure I realized it at the time, but it was not the first time I’d written about Karp for The A.V. Club. During my first stint with The A.V. Club, I’d negatively reviewed the album he had recorded under the unfortunate rap name Hot Karl.
#SlowNewsDay
It apparently had an effect on Karp since, if I’m not mistaken, he references it and agrees with my withering assessment of his 2005 debut album, The Great Escape, in his memoir.
We seemed to have simpatico sensibilities, so we began one of those low-stakes, low-intensity online relationships.
I pitched some ideas for Gallery 1988, including a podcast-themed art show (which I still think is a great idea) and another related to the 2020 book The Weird Accordion to Al. They ended up doing an Al-themed show, but I had nothing to do with it.
So when I saw that he was coming to the Gathering of the Juggalos, I made a special point of meeting him and saying hi despite my intense social anxiety. For some reason, it was easier and less stressful to talk to strangers at the Gathering, possibly because of the MDMA I was on. That will make you energetic and chatty. Also, it allowed me to stay awake all hours of the night and early morning rather than crashing at ten o’clock.
Karp was there as a DJ for Nova Rockafella, a white rapper that he was mentoring. She was a cute white rapper with a poppy sound and an image at once relatable and intensely non-threatening.
I don’t remember much about the show, possibly due to the drugs that I was on.
I fell out of touch with Karp because I am terrible at maintaining relationships, though I did continue to buy pop art from Gallery 1988 regularly.
The next time I heard about Karp was when he had the fortune and then misfortune to become the main character on the internet when he tweeted about finding a shrimp tale in a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
People were amused. The story went viral, with many doubting the veracity of his claim.
Then things got dark. Karp’s Twitter fame/infamy prompted a lot of folks to share their experiences with the ambitious former rapper. None of it was positive.
A picture quickly emerged of Karp as an emotionally and verbally abusive boyfriend and boss, as well as a heartless opportunist willing to step over anyone and everyone in his relentless climb to the top.
Karp was milkshake ducked. Fame was the worst thing that could have happened to his reputation and image. Suddenly, the question of whether or not Karp had found shrimp in his cereal became irrelevant. It ceased to matter.
I was not shocked because it is generally very difficult to achieve success in the entertainment world without having at least a bit of a sociopathic streak and a willingness to trample over the feelings of others.
I’m not sure why, but a few days ago, I decided to Google Nova Rockafeller. I wondered what had happened to her.
This time, I was shocked. Rockafeller went on to experience enormous success not as a cute, accessible pop rapper but as the girlfriend of Tom MacDonald, a rapper she collaborates with extensively, directing his videos, appearing on his songs, and helping him navigate the tricky waters of Hip Hop.
MacDonald is the most popular and influential MAGA rapper. He’s a heavily tattooed dirtbag from Canada who became the favorite rapper of Trump cultists.
You know that awful video where Ben Shapiro “rapped?” That was Tom MacDonald. I’m writing this now because MacDonald recently released a rap collaboration with Roseanne Barr called “Daddy’s Home” about how we’ve been a very naughty country, and Donald Trump has returned to spank us all on our bottoms but not, you know, in a weird or creepy way.
When I first learned of MacDonald’s unfortunate existence, I listened to part of one of his songs. That was enough. That told me all that I needed to know. I did not need to give this gentleman a single second more of my time.
There’s a pretty good chance that Rockefeller ghostwrote transphobic lyrics for Barr like, “Why are they tryna turn Becky into Dan? (That's a man!)/You can pap, pap, pap, pap, pap, pap, pap/Screw Eminem, bitch, I′m Roseanne (that's Roseanne).”
What a weird fucking world. Needless to say, I look back at that evening at the Gathering a lot differently now. Everything takes on a darker connotation in light of what I now know about Karp and Rockefeller.
You meet some weird people at the Gathering. Some of the most toxic and unfortunate don’t wear face paint and are fueled by soulless ambition and a willingness to hurt whoever gets in the way of their professional ascent.
Nathan needed expensive, life-saving dental implants, and his dental plan doesn’t cover them, so he started a GoFundMe at https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-nathans-journey-to-dental-implants. Give if you can!
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