“You mean to tell me they’re going to empty out ALL those soda bottles on the stage?”

It was Miss Cottingham’s first Insane Clown Posse concert. Mother of the late and great Cannibal, juggalo hero, the short, shy woman wearing a denim jacket and t-shirt adorned with her only son’s face carried with her an undeniable air of calmness and peacefulness amid the rowdy revelry that surrounded her on all sides.

It was an unseasonably warm October night in Philadelphia, the specter of summer still clinging as the days shortened and gave way to the smell of falling leaves and spectacular 6pm sunsets in the city. A night like this would soon only be a distant memory as the frost of winter beckoned at street corners and stoops, eager to envelop the city in its fold. Just for one last time before the long stretch of cold, tonight, we found mercy. A sense of gratitude and celebration was palpable in the parking lot as juggalos gleefully danced and met each other with painted smiles and warm embraces. It was perfect tailgating weather–the last of its kind in the onset of the long winter ahead. And tonight as we celebrated the return of our Clowns to the City of Family Love, we also held in our hearts the memory of a man who seemed the last of his kind in cold times. Cannibal’s name was chanted and his face proudly displayed on banners, stickers, and shirts. And the woman who called him not only son but “Twin,” the only child of an only child, would soon join our celebration.

Miss Cottingham arrived via Delaware juggalo caravan as the guest of honor, courtesy of J-Webb and Psychopathic Records. And having made a call two nights prior to convince her to step out of her comfort zone and fully immerse herself in our (perhaps by some definitions) unconventional celebration of her departed son, I felt it was my duty and privilege to spend the evening by her side as her host, ensuring she was comfortable in what was, for her, uncharted territory.

As we made our way through the venue, “There she is!” and “That’s Cannibal’s Mom!” were heard whispered all through the night from juggalos passing by, who would stop dead in their tracks to embrace Miss Cottingham and tell her stories about her son. “I’ve known Cannibal for more than ten years,” one juggalo remarked, “And everytime I’d see him, without fail, he would make me smile.” As the night went on, ninjas lined up at the bar to refresh the lady’s drink–over generously at times. But tonight was a night where this mother’s cup should indeed overflow. This was a party–and not just any party. This was a juggalo party. And tonight we celebrated the life of our fallen brother, whose sacrifice was met with acclaim the world over. A true hero. An angel among us.

“I can just hear him,” said Miss Cottingham. “‘Mom! You’re finally at an ICP show?!’ I know my son is with me and so happy that I am here. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And so we celebrated all through the night, with an opening act by Cannibal’s closest juggalo family, Delaware homies Ill Phil, Phat Joker, Rude Boi, and more, followed by multiple times during ICP’s set when the juggalos would spontaneously break out and chant Cannibal’s name to the delighted raised hands of the soulful and spiritual warrior woman on the balcony who sat by my side. “I want to see us all in Shangri-la,” a vibrant and lively Violent J proclaimed during a spontaneous break midset, his musings soon drowned out by the crowd chanting Cannibal’s name.

Throughout the night, the reserved and peaceful Miss Cottingham danced a little more and then a little more. Overcoming shyness, we soon found ourselves deep in discussion about the spirituality that led her to meet such loss with amazing resilience and fortitude–prayer and courage. Here in this conversation between us echoed the truth of the words of the Missing Link: “Life ain’t scary when you don’t fear death.” And because of what Cannibal did in the face of a cold world, Miss Cottingham and I could both affirm to each other that truly we were no longer afraid. On a personal note, the experience of being by her side for the celebration of her son’s life by the juggalo family was for me life changing and will forever be a source of inspiration in my heart.

Back on stage, “Let’s Go All the Way” played, and for the first time all night, she and I were completely on our feet, dancing juggalos by our side, the vibration of the place sheer magic. Then it happened. The music cut out.

“This is Philadelphia, the city of heroes!” J’s call echoed from the stage. “We hear that people are asking for a moment of silence for our fallen brother Cannibal–but he was a JUGGALO, so let’s make it a moment of VIOLENCE instead! I want you to be as loud as you possibly can for the next ten seconds in his honor. Are you ready? Three! Two! One!”

Miss Cottingham didn’t scream.

She just stood up on the balcony, arms spread like an angel, and received the roar of the crowd with her whole heart, eyes closed, a single tear falling down her cheek.

As “Pass Me By” began to play and white confetti swirled around us like snow, we were giddy like children playing inside a magical snow globe. Maybe, with moments like this, with people like this, with music like this…maybe the winter of the world could be a beautiful place after all. Even in the coldest places, we can find beauty beyond words. And while the juggalos screamed and shouted, it was Miss Cottingham who indeed held the requested “moment of silence” as she embraced the energy.

We playfully threw Faygos down on the crowd below for the remainder of the night.

Outside in the parking lot, she asked, “So when is the next show? I’m coming back if you all will have me.”

And, of course, the juggalos and juggalettes are more than happy to oblige.

Much love, Family!

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Stay tuned to Faygoluvers for videos of last night’s performance as soon as they are available. Much clown love to you ALL and mad love and respect to the Cottingham family and much gratitude to Insane Clown Posse for their generous support and incredible performance. Whoop Whoop!