Gallery review: Hunter S Thompson would have loved Meow Wolf

I take every chance I can get to escape the wheels of the capitalist death machine. My phone is constantly telling me someone’s been shot in a mall, or the asshole with the long red tie has done something to make me clutch my humanity pearls, so when an opportunity to melt away into dimensions unknown presents itself, I’m taking it. This past weekend, to celebrate my boys’ birthdays, we took them to Meow Wolf’s Radio Taves experience in Houston, and I’m still thinking about it. I got lunch next to a fucking rat in a blonde wig while a three-titted bra was above my head. This place was madness of the Hunter S. Thompson variety—save the ether binge.

If you’re asking yourself, “WTF is a Meow Wolf, a cat adventure?” Meow Wolf is an artist collective that evolved into an immersive-experience company that builds massive, walk-through worlds that feel like stepping into a lucid dream that’s an orgy of color, sound, and chaos. Sculpture, digital art, narrative storytelling, and music were all elements on display—even the floors visitors walk on are curated. The company started in Santa Fe as a DIY collective before growing into a national phenomenon, with permanent exhibitions in Las Vegas, Denver, and now Houston. Each location has its own storyline, throwing surrealism, sci-fi, and community collaboration into a cocktail mixer.

I understood what I was getting into when I bought the tickets, having heard many interesting things about the Meow Wolf experiences, depending on the location you’re in. Really, I still can’t explain what we encountered. I know this: you enter a radio station called ETNL, and from the moment you open the doors, nothing is as it seems. Microwaves open into art curations, you walk through fridges and into unknown realms, and then the next thing you know, you’re talking to a voice—lost and unknown. Apparently, the theme is that the radio station had contact with other lifeforms and then blasted off into many alternate worlds. I don’t know. My one gripe about visiting Radio Taves was that I wanted the storyline to be just a little more obvious, maybe a little stronger than the “what you see is what you perceive” vibe they keep. Literally my only note.

The rooms are otherworldly and mesmerizing. You could easily spend two or three hours inside and never feel like you’ve really seen everything. Music plays a huge role throughout the experience, with many nods to Houston’s hip-hop culture: even down to paintings of DJ Screw.

Usually, when I do stuff with my kids, I have a tendency to feel like I threw my money away. That we were all underwhelmed or walked into a tourist trap. With Radio Taves, I felt like I experienced something of cultural value rather than just did something that filled the time. I’ve been to theme parks, but this was wholly unique, built out of imagination with no boundaries to adhere to, rather than following a G-rated movie script. I liked how free and experimental the art was, and the curators were intentional about making sure you didn’t feel tied to the earth’s problems. I didn’t want to check my phone; I wanted to stay in the realm, which, like I said, is nice.

I liked that it was in Houston and not Austin. You know why? Because if it were here, it would suck. The place would be $65 a person, and some scowling barista with a cactus chest tattoo would berate you because you didn’t like her ironic Spice Girls vintage tee. Being in Houston gives the space just enough openness to breathe and keeps it away from the faux pretentious bullshit of the new Austin.

I’m not saying that if you’re into drugs, you should go here—but I’m also not, not saying that, either. You figure it out.

If you work for Meow Wolf and are reading this, you should invite me to come to Grapevine next.

Featured photo by Tarick Foteh courtesy of Meow Wolf

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