Tucked away in the bowels of BUKU Fest’s “S.S. BLU-KU” steamboat yesterday, out of the afternoon glare and away from the swarms of neon-clad revelers outside, Boyfriend was making herself at home in an armchair and getting her nails done by a kimono-clad minion.
One of the city’s hottest new artists (she recently released debut EPs Love Your Boyfriend: Pts 1 & 2 to critical acclaim) the young rapper is beloved by fans and critics for her aggressive sexuality, unapologetically descriptive lyrics, and ability to put on a great show.
This one was no different, despite the bizarre venue (a small, swanky dining area on the lower deck of the festival’s VIP steamboat.)
Seated in an armchair in a red kimono, shower cap on and martini in hand, Boyfriend welcomed the gathered crowd to her “living room” and expressed the hope that we wouldn’t mind if she took care of some personal hygiene while she performed.
After all, as she explained, you’ll never get anywhere in life if you can’t get two things done at once.
Photo by: Carly Levenshon
While she launched into “Swanky” (“Never gamble, but I’m playin’ at Harrah’s/ f*ckin’ Clark Gables like I’m Scarlett O’Hara/ Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn/ I’m swanky, my dear, I don’t give a damn”), a hilariously pasty-faced, harassed-looking assistant labored away with the nail polish before taking out the razor and starting on Boyfriend’s legs.
When not getting groomed, the enthusiastically-promiscuous rapper was leaping around on the dance floor, shedding clothes, and grinding up on the audience members, none of whom were safe from tongue-in-cheek taunts and her voracious demand for crowd participation.
Various targets were compelled to do her hair, sit on her lap and drink martinis, kiss her, be serenaded (and you can imagine what a serenade from Boyfriend would be like) or simply stand onstage to be exorcised of “deadbeat”-ness.
When one man hesitated, she insisted,“I’d really like you to shave my legs. You’d better take the chance now, because soon I’ll be too famous.”
That seems a very likely possibility.
Delightful show business aside, Boyfriend is also a deft, witty lyricist who can spew out rhymes articulately and at breakneck speed.
She performed “Man Cheatin” (to an audience chorus of “Hell no!”), “Triangle” (“I like her, and she likes me, you like us, babe, we can be three”), “Tomorrow” (“Don’t ask me ‘bout forever, babe, ask me ’bout tomorrow”), and others, all with blushingly-specific descriptions.
And in case you forgot where you were, the occasional weary-looking staff member would climb up from the emergency escape hatch in the middle of the floor during all this commotion and stride away to some other part of the ship.
Like so many New Orleans artists of various genres, it’s Boyfriend’s relentless energy, obvious love of the music, and dedication to the performance (no matter the venue) that makes her not just good but totally engrossing.
What’s more, by exalting sexuality so vocally (even though some might call it vulgar), she helps break down longstanding gender stereotypes and toxic societal taboos.
“No, really though,” the deadpan performer took care to remind the audience, “you shouldn’t have sex before marriage.”
