All images courtesy prettypuke.com
Once a figurative pedestal for hard masculinity and unbridled self-confidence, the narrative of hip-hop (and its musical derivates) has taken a pivotal shift in the 2010s, both visually and lyrically, veering towards veracity instead of bravado, ousting lush disposition in favour of previously disqualifying emotional disclosure.
For his last tour, preceding his untimely death at the age of 21, emo rapper Lil Peep performed in a reconstituted bedroom; a stage adorned with personal memorabilia, including his own mattress, echoing at once the visceral intimacy of his music writing process, the loneliness and confusion of a young artist whose life was to be cut short by the same demons that fuelled the generational relatability behind his commercial success. A punctual tragedy that even just a few years prior would have served the conservative cautionary myth confirming the dangers of early fame and money, was instead met with a dialogue — in the Soundcloud underground, the Gen-Z blogosphere, and public debates alike — surrounding mental health, medication and substance abuse, particularly amongst the digital native youth. The generational nihilism as visible in meme culture as it has become in “sad” cloud rap sub-genres is, to say the least, warranted: living out your formative years in an epoch of environmental and economic collapse governed by technological addiction and forceful compliance to surveillance capitalism is bound to trigger some kind of collective malaise.
A profound sense of unease permeates the emo, or “sad” rap culture and the aesthetic mediums that mirror it, as can be seen in photographer Miller Rodriguez’s discomforting, glisteningly gross imagery. A friend and collaborator of Peep’s, Rodriguez, known professionally under the highly adequate alias of Pretty Puke, has been photographing the humour, pain and exasperation of 2010s youth culture for over ten years. A loud metaphor for the beauty and despair of a cursed generation, Rodriguez’s shots frontally depict used tampons sprinkled with glitter and smiley faces, stabbed pink teddy bears and condoms filled with M&Ms — whatever remains of the ancestral notion of taboo is smashed, and post-woke cynicism is put in the spotlight. The self-professed troll breaks it down.
The goal is to walk the line between conventional mediums of art and nonsensical, absurdist online youth culture.
You’re known for your imagery that takes very familiar and intimate elements of everyday life and disrupts them by creating unexpected overlaps. What’s the narrative behind your lens?
Trolling, absurdism, disruptive yet marketable. I’ve been labeled a “shock photographer,” which to me suggests aspects of my work are ill-intentioned. I find my aesthetic to be more playful and tongue-in-cheek. It’s fun to fuck with mundane boundaries forced on me, such as social media “community guidelines.” All the shit that encourages pretty yet boring imagery and compliance. The goal is to walk the line between conventional mediums of art and nonsensical absurdist online youth culture.
You’ve been shooting for about a decade, and have been a witness of the drastic change of heart that the hip-hop/youth culture has undergone — going from loud masculinity to a softer, sadder, more vulnerable way of “being a man”. How do you incorporate this in your work?
I like messing with juxtaposition between hard and soft. Historically hip-hop is emblematic of hard masculinity. Collaborating with other non-traditional artists has given me the chance to explore the limitations of machismo a bit in my work. It’s also another means of pushing viewers button’s. I’ve always intended to create work that is relatable to anyone that feels like a weirdo or an outsider.
You’ve worked with Lil Peep, who was at the forefront of this musical and societal revolution, and has paved the way towards a much more open discussion surrounding mental health. What can we learn from him as a society, and what do you think he would have liked his cultural legacy to be?
I’ll say this one makes me nervous. I don’t think I’m in a position to encapsulate his cultural legacy especially when he had so much left to say. Everyone has private battles that they are fighting, we’ve got to invest in mental health ASAP.
There is a sense of grossness coupled with humour in your imagery. It seems to be a visual depiction of a generational spirit: we’ve inherited a fucked up economy and a planet that’s literally on fire. Yet our way of coping with this is memes, self-derision. What’s your relationship to humour?
Humor and I have only been on one date. Satire is a powerful means of dissent but I’m also playing with themes that make me laugh. The jester is the only one in the position to openly laugh at the king. Memes have become a way of processing the daily clusterfuck we’re all living through. With COVID and social distancing, our digital relationships are increasingly important. Right now the internet’s the only place we can meet up and have a laugh.
I was raised by a nudist and don’t often think in terms of social taboos. Trump is the only thing I find truly profane.
Another trait of our generation, I would say, is a certain (justified) sense of defeat. Do you think there still is room for hope and positivity amongst young people?
A sense of apathy and defeat is certainly pervasive and understandable especially in 2020. Everyday we’re bombarded with an unending infodump of apocalyptic news. We’ve got to desensitise ourselves just to survive it. While justifiable, checking out is the easy move. Hope is the only thing that can get you through the rough times, and it’s been exciting to see the ways young people have made some noise despite how bleak the present moment feels.
A lot can be said about the immediate emotional response one can have to your images. Is there a particular emotion or reflection you would like it to trigger in the viewers?
As an artist, eliciting any sort of reaction makes me feel like I’ve done my job. I’m not interested in presenting squeaky clean and decidedly polished Instagram pictures. I’ve always identified as a punk and with DIY culture. Pushing buttons for me is way more memorable than playing it safe. I don’t know if my fondness for flirting with the grotesque has trapped me in the realm of the outsider artist, but I’m austere with my lens and who I work with. Keeping it weird has helped me maintain my brand and distinguish myself as an artist.
Where do you source inspiration?
Fox News, PETA, Scientology, AIDS, Catholicism, Heaven’s Gate, Weight Watchers, mass shootings, The Beatles, anal lube, Nicolas Cage, NXIVM, candy corn, Girl Scouts, circumcision, the Night Stalker, Antifa, cellulite, TikTok, McDonald’s , and Pornhub.
What I love the most about your imagery is that you’re really fucking with the socially entrenched notion of “taboo” — things like period blood, sex, childbirth, stretch marks, to name a few, are prominently featured in your pictures. How does that play into your creative process? Is anything still “taboo” to you, or has that notion become completely obsolete?
There are no boundaries, everything’s open to exploration. My images are made for self-gratification and I’m not looking to appease anyone in my work. I think of it as a purposeful mess of ideas, playing with every type of trope or flipping culturally accepted iconography on its head. I hope people can’t anticipate wherever I’m going next in my work. I was raised by a nudist and don’t often think in terms of social taboos. Trump is the only thing I find truly profane.