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Until The End of the World :: Off-the-grid MCs are preparing for the end of civilization by learning how to survive without it

By Daiana Feuer   Photography by Martin Thiel

09/13/07 :: URB 149

Big trees live in the Pacific Northwest, Paul Bunyan trees. Deep in Oregon’s Umpqua National Forest, a road narrowly winds between great cedars and hardwoods. after about an hour, the road becomes so rocky that the car trembles sheepishly. It’s ‘round the mountain about three or four times before a small compound suddenly reveals itself, on the seam of a magestic green ridge guarded by a fit guy in camouflage pants, big boots and a backpack with a machete sticking out. There’s a grin on his face.

“If you had enough guns and water, you could seal off the whole mountain before anyone even accidentally came up here,” boasts Fenix as he opens the gate. Together with partner Etheric Double, they are Resident Antihero, a hip-hop duo that spends more time in trees than in clubs, working on survival skills to prepare for civilization’s collapse. A two-floor cabin, a water tower and munitions shed sum up the compound. The expansive view from here covers miles in every direction, an ideal post for fire watch when the structure was built almost 75 years ago. Green reaches uninterrupted to snow-capped peaks on the horizon, aside from huge bald spots of stripped mountainsides. “Clear-cut” is the timber industry term for those bald spots. “That is what civilization does for the forest,” Fenix bemoans. “When you’re driving down a highway and you see a massive clear-cut where the environment is ravaged and destroyed, you see the pollution in the rivers, you watch the suburban sprawl grow over the years, it’s going to affect you differently than if you live in a city.”

Etheric Double encourages a stubborn old retriever, Prince, to hop out of their taped-up van. A ceramic gnome rests on the dash and a heap of woodsy clothes litter the back, aftermath of a recent northwest tour traversing the Cascadia terrain. Cascadia is a term of endearment for the collective region of Northern California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and sometimes Idaho. At its extreme, some residents of Cascadia talk of forming their own independent country. But more realistically, Cascadia represents an eco-friendly, populous way of life. One that is under duress.

“People in remote areas and small towns feel what we are saying,” says Etheric. “They get behind the message because they’re close to it and it’s part of their lives.”

On its album, Age of Dissent, Resident Antihero seeks to instill “dissent in the masses,” according to Etheric, “a healthy amount of questioning authority. Look at the notes of Thomas Jefferson. Dissent is a healthy medium, necessary for the growth of country or society. Ben Franklin was the same way. Look into the fabric of the country and the systems of government, what they were based on and what they’ve become now.”

Confrontational and even militant, Resident Antihero’s lyrics are full of vibrant metaphors and a sense of humor, however dark it may be. “Eating radiated flesh is not something that’s really possible,” Fenix offers for example. They hope to raise awareness on themes and problems with a society that gorges on resources with little regard.

“It’s filtered education we receive as industrial, civilized little machine children,” rages Fenix. “We’re spoon-fed a way to be and a way to think since we’re three years old, in which we pledge allegiance to a system whose laws protect industry, not people or nature. We’re using this music as hip-hop was meant to be used, as a medium of social change and a mouthpiece for social problems.” The problem is not with humanity itself, they claim, but with civilization.

Anti-civilizationism
Two tracks on Age of Dissent feature a surprisingly laidback anarcho-primitivist breaking down the philosophy of End Game, a little (500-page) book known, sort of, as a bible of the anti-civilization movement. When its author, writer/activist Derrick Jensen, speaks in public, 400 to 800 people attend.

“I’m a recruiter for the revolution against this culture,” Jensen explains. “I write to help bring about the conditions for people to bring down the system before it kills the planet.”

Now, Jensen sits in an enclave of tall grass by a dirty little stream behind his favorite restaurant in all 1.6 square miles of Crescent City, California. There is a twig in his hair, but he’s more concerned with getting a slimy green frog stowaway in the bed of his truck back to its habitat.

“My audience isn’t mainstream. I write for people who already recognize how messed up everything is, and I want to push them harder,” Jensen says. “I want to push them to be more active, more radical, more militant.

“This culture is not and can never be sustainable,” Jensen continues as fluidly as if giving a recipe for scrambled eggs. “Any way of living based on the use of nonrenewable resources or the hyper-exploitation of renewable resources won’t last. The economic system provides infinite demand for anything that’s perceived of value. No natural resource can provide infinite demand—Then there’s plastic.”

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