Secondhand Setlists

You can tell Jesus that the bitch is back, not that he’ll return her call. But it’s cool, she still loves him, he could never overshadow her second coming anyway.

With a raspy, mature voice like Amanda Blank and the cadence and confidence of Trina, Ayesha Erotica sang odes to Heidi Montag, Lina Morgana, and Jodi Arias while covering New Order and Kelly Osbourne. She thrived in online spaces that pledged allegiance to Crystal Castles as much as they would Pretty Wild. As tuned-in as she was to the Y2K aesthetic that now drives some of today’s biggest stars, Erotica also played a part in driving the new trends of the 2010s. Miss Prada, her moniker before she adapted the title of Joanne the Scammer, enlisted Erotica to produce for her album. Fellow Montag maven Slayyyter took off in 2018 thanks to the gleaming, menacing productions of “BFF” and “Alone.” The rising stars of tomorrow from Goth Jafar to Chloe Hotline to Dvnots reference her work to this day. By 2018, more people began to take notice, and Ayesha Erotica seemed destined to take off.

But like the Avatar, when the world needed her most, she vanished. During her climb in mid-Spring of 2018, I tried to set up an interview with Ayesha Erotica. We exchanged information over email and planned to speak on my lunch break. All I ever heard from her was a ringback tone. Shortly thereafter, she bowed out of the scene entirely, leaving behind many questions and a prolific, fuchsia-tinted legacy. So it went, the severely online nature of her fandom overwhelmed her and drove her out of music entirely. For years afterwards any direct contact from Erotica typically consisted of “NO ONE is coming back.”

Though Ayesha Erotica disappeared, her music remained. Drag queens lip-synced to “Literal Legend” in Club Quarantine. That song eventually found its way to national TV via the American Music Awards to herald Cardi B, another star the Internet and social media launched into the lives of locals the world over. All the while, songs like “Baby in the Kitchen,” “Big Juicy,” and “Yummy” bubbled up on TikTok, the latter accruing over five million hits on YouTube as a mashup with Mo Beats’ “Righteous.” The Ayesha Army deserves credit for keeping her name alive, documenting her catalog as well as her backstory, career, and controversies in ways that no other publications ever really bothered. They actually chronicled Ayesha Erotica in ways not always seen in other fandoms, who often engage in doxxing or ignore bad behavior altogether.

A breath of fresh air in many ways, Erotica’s fans are pretty open about her shortcomings. One track, “Heroin, AIDS, Chlamydia,” where she uses a number of racist slurs, is thoroughly covered on her Wiki. The song was a mistake on her part, one Erotica herself has acknowledged. Her mythology, the good and bad segments, remained on the internet thanks to her stans. And so, despite her absence, Erotica’s sound echoed in the ripples of the hyperpop explosion of 2019.

Then last year, the unthinkable happened. Ayesha Erotica appeared on a poster for LA-based party Heav3n, her first live show ever. Even without her name on the bill, the lineup was one for the ages: Chase Icon, Mel 4ever, RYLO, Tech Girl, That Kid, many of them daughters of Erotica. Her appearance, however, signaled a new age of Erotica. Since then, she’s played the famed Roxy as an opener for Snow Strippers as well as the Globe Theater for another Heav3n party. New music soon began to surface: songs with her boyfriend, Yvncc, as well as the Kylie-interpolating “Tongues” with Mel 4ever. And yet, other than a brief mention on Paper’s Sound Off column, news has remained scant on the return of one of the biggest names in online music circles. For the girls and gays, she’s Yung Lean or Evilgiane, an artist made mythical by prolific creativity juxtaposed against shadowy, exaggerated, and often reluctant online personas.

So, I naturally needed to see this show for myself, and made the decision to head to downtown LA to 1720 Warehouse to witness Ayesha Erotica’s headline show.

1720 has a cool atmosphere and plenty of space. It’s also where I’ve seen some of the strangest shows in LA: Walshy Fire with support from Bad Gyal, the most lackluster SOPHIE set I would ever see, and other, messier iterations of Heav3n. For context, Heav3n parties are where you’ll see Uffie on the lineup, but without clarification that it will be a DJ set (and that she won’t spin “Pop the Glock”), or where you’ll watch “special guest” Cobrah take to the stage just to say “I am too drunk to perform.” Save yourself the embarrassment, dear. In other words, it’s unpolished and fun, perfect for the return of someone like Ayesha Erotica.

This concert allowed ages 16 and up. Please imagine for a second being 16-years-old and asking your mother “Can I go to downtown LA to see Ayesha Erotica?” I applaud any parent who made the trek and drop-off in their sedan, telling their kids to have fun at the internet show and that they’ll be back by 11 to pick them up.

I pulled up to this show with three other *geriatric gays (*see: 30+). While we were on the older side of the demographic, our ages couldn’t have made us stand out. Members of the audience dressed for different occasions like guests at Kathy Hilton’s. We saw Hot Topic bangs, EDC rave gear, Carhartt cargo pants, sports jerseys, and a hell of a lot of furry objects: fuzzy boots, cat-ear headbands, animal backpacks, and one furry purse at the merch table. Much of said merch was from Heaven Sent, whose “I<3HS” stickers inadvertently contributed to the high school feel of this show. I’d put money on saying that over half of the attendees have said or typed the word “rawr” at least once in their lives. If there was any one ethos about the atmosphere, my friend Jack said it astutely: “This event is Millionaires-coded.” Youthful, debaucherous, and aesthetically fluid. 

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Serendipitously, the Ayesha concert happened during Music’s Biggest Week. Prior commitments meant our group arrived much later than when doors opened at 6pm. Not that anyone at 1720 would have cared about parties thrown by Spotify or Variety;to them, music’s biggest night was about to get underway. Based on posts I’ve seen, in our absence we missed out on “212” and some slurs; I can do without the latter, while the former is never far away from me.

We caught the tail-end of Luke Blovad, wearing of all things a Green Day shirt. Their music ran the gamut of sludgy, syrupy hip-hop to irreverent, bratty electropop to varying success. I personally skewed towards the upbeat numbers, not because I’m more a pophead myself, but because the higher energy made for better stage presence. Blovad and the following act, Cartier GOD, felt quite subdued at various points throughout their performances. Although the music may at times call for it, a restrained performance rarely ever translates well onstage. Lack of presence certainly didn’t help when the stage was already swarmed with seven other AFI- and rapper-lookalikes swaying onstage, all filming each other with iPhones, selfie sticks, and what looked like a camcorder. Taking stock of the four archetypes onstage (emo, rapper, raver, animal), I turned to my friend Will and asked which category of hanger-on he would be a part of.

“Anime character,” he deadpanned. Seemed I’d overlooked one demographic.

As for Cartier GOD, at least his music boasted a little more BPM behind it. He and the aforementioned stage posse stood murky against a backdrop that brought From Dusk Till Dawn into the Fortnite universe. Make of that what you will. I definitely felt myself being taken on an adventure through his setlist. He sampled Robin S to much enthusiasm on “Love Is Drugs.” At some moments he gave us Thugger-like screlching, at others I swore I heard Robert Alfons. Though, like Blovad, Cartier’s performance itself left little of an impression, it did enjoin me to search out his other work. I highly recommend the Wave Album created with mol$. To anyone reading this: please do not be like me that evening and miss the openers. The opening acts here also spoke to the further blurring of musical genres and tastes that seems more the norm everyday. Clubby dance music, cloud rap, and scene-kid dramatics all popped up in some way shape or form long before the woman of the hour ever took the stage.

When Ayesha Erotica finally did, I practically expected to see the ears of those animal headbands perk up. The fervor ran high for a humble entrance. Hood up, hat askew, in Miss Me jeans and boots with the furrr, Ayesha Erotica dressed like Pennsatucky by way of Huntington Beach. Emerging from the stage posse, their vape pens a suitable, smelly smokescreen effect, Erotica looked small but she was fierce. Her power was proven by the roar of this young, passionate crowd.

“I’m a little bit drunk, HA HA HA!” she shared before uttering a single verse. “We’re gonna do some classics and we’re gonna do some new shit!”

New shit kicked off the set with “Mary Magdalene.” This track skewed towards softer, twinkling dancepop of PinkPantheress, obviously given an edge with Erotica’s slightly sinister timbre. The warm reception of the new material, which later included “Giga Bowser” and “May Showers,” only solidified that, at least to those of us there, she hadn’t lost it.

Unlike the infamous Mitski shows, this audience felt appropriately hyped and respectful of this URLegend. Hordes of kids sang along to lyrics new and old, waving their fans, flip phones, and a singular troll figurine. One dedicated fan passed off a Hello Kitty doll to the head doll herself, who pledged to carry it the rest of the show. Erotica appeared equally pleased by her admirers – shaking their hands, declaring “I love you too, baby!”, and asking for social handles. Thankfully, and surprisingly given the furs present, no one loudly meowed or screamed over her, though I caught a few flying objects hurled on the stage. If you’re reading this as a concert attendee, please know the best way to drive someone like Erotica back into retirement is by being obnoxious. The internet being overwhelming is one thing – a rambunctious, poorly controlled crowd is entirely another. 

Now, a hyped crowd is something magical, and increasingly rare in 2024. More folks in this tiny room put their hands up for “Emo Boy” than I saw of stadiums full of adults hearing veritable classics like “Crazy In Love” or “Ray Of Light.” Knowing an irreverent, DIY girl who resembled your Tokio Hotel-obsessed classmate elicited more energy than the world’s biggest pop acts served as a reminder that the adage 1000 fans is better than a 1,000,000 remains a good metric to measure success. Keep your base small enough to make connections; they’ll push you forward, hold you accountable, and you’ll see ties arise in surprising ways.

“I know you from somewhere!” Erotica continuously repeated to one rando, likely someone who’s avi frequently appears in her comments section. Erotica’s fanbase stays logged on, something she understood deeply. “Where my Twitter bitches at?” she shouted. My friends and I, with our timeline-tarnished brains, roared back in solidarity.

“I never thought I would be shit!” Erotica admitted, deeply honest with her devotees. “But it happened!”

And happening Erotica was that night. The breakneck energy of “Emo Boy” bleeding into the dnb of “May Showers” put folks in high spirits from the get-go. Performance-wise, Ayesha kept her movements simple. This largely involved walking one end of the stage to the other, stopping along the way to snog Yvncc, shout out her BFF Valerie, or step-kick, step-kick in time with the beat. Vocally, she recalled the legends you catch at karaoke night: not the most in tune, but the most in character. She screeched into the microphone as if to remind us “yes it’s on, and no I’m not Jazmine Sullivan.” She sounded young, muddled, and uninhibited, the exact way I wanted to hear her.

Anticipation worked wonderfully in Erotica’s favor. Imagine waiting nearly a decade for this performance, an impossible dream during her hiatus. So, when that Space Cowboy-esque drum machine kicked in for “Girl Next Door,” the exhilaration rose alongside those synthesizers. We watched as fans climbed the backside of the stage, hyped at the thought of meeting their next lover in, of all places, K-Mart.

“I was like 19 alone in my room, sad as fuck, trying to create this character that would resonate with people,” she said. “I never thought I’d make it big at all.” And yet her vulgar, rebellious, limelight-chasing SoCal girl persona took off in remarkable ways: “I’m selling ‘World’s Biggest Coke Whore’ shirts because when you Google ‘world’s biggest coke whore,’ I come up!”

The mishmash of genres in her set spoke to the omnivorous tastes of today’s listener. Hundreds of kids went up for an electro anthem about boys who shop at Hot Topic. Those same fans reacted with the same enthusiasm towards the pots and pans/trance mashup that was “Iconic,” the intro to the beloved Horny.4u. Whether referencing Smash Bros or covering Darren Styles, Erotica held the crowd in her studded-cross back pockets.

The various covers and collaborations towards the center of the setlist, as well as her current output, suggested the Ayesha Erotica project is steering to more collaborative territory. No longer confined to her lonely bedroom, Erotica has artists and labels hitting her up. With this new power, she might leave behind the character many fell in love with to chase different sounds. Like Beyoncé pivoting into country or Andrè 3000 becoming a flautist, Erotica could traipse off into emo or deeper rap sounds rather than resuscitate the coke queen. At the very least, she’s kicking some aforementioned favorites to the curb; now I know why we never heard “I could give you Björk but I don’t think you’d understand it.” Still, she clearly held some sentimentality to her discography thus far, wanting to bask in this moment with others: her boyfriend, her BFF, her fans, her inspirations.

“Shoutout Linsday Lohan, one day I wanna meet you!” she shouted. “My mom was on some crazy shit. Whenever we saw Parent Trap she’s like ‘Oh you look like her.’ So I kinda became obsessed with her for a minute. And that’s [La Bella Vita] a song about that.”

Lindsay should be proud. The live debut of “La Bella Vita” rocked because A. it’s in 6/8 time, and B. it’s a pop song with Muse instrumentals underneath it (a proven winning combo). Its stomping made way for the propulsive hedonism of “We Can Do It.” That song stood out as a perfect late-game selection, and not just for the amphetamine rush it provided to the latter half of the set. The Singles Jukebox’s Will Rivitz sharply observed in Ayesha’s music how behind the gloss and sarcasm often lay tinges of melancholy, regret, and tenderness. The palpitating tempo of “We Can Do It” simultaneously conjured exhilaration and anxiety; there was no way to get off the ride, which carried on as visions of what could be rushed past. “No matter how many times drugs made me think I love you, boy / You know that ain’t true,” imagining something better but being powerless to bring it to life. In some ways, Erotica seemed swept up in a rush of her own creation – she’s the Number One Coke Whore and everyone loves her for it, and perhaps there’s the fear that that’s all they want from her: Ayesha Nicole Smith, her antics entertainment until they’re not. At one point she said, “To be loved is such a wild concept to me,” a sobering moment to hear at a concert where the set included a song called “Hoe Garden.”

But Erotica demonstrated that this concept was becoming easier for her to understand. An extremely tender moment came from a shoutout to her BFF from age 14, Valerie. More than just a loyal friend, Valerie played an important role in the lore: “She’s the reason I’m in this shit. She gave me her old-ass Macbook and I made my first three albums on that shit.”

And to have witnessed Ayesha Erotica in her shit now, basking in the glow of her second coming. Like Ethel Cain, she shares an affinity for the Christian Messiah, shouting out his son out in the middle of her cover of “Save Me”: “I love Jesus!” Whereas Cain’s God evokes fear and sadness, Erotica’s only exasperates his followers. “Sometimes I wonder if Jesus is above me,” she pondered on the showstopping closer, “Vacation Bible School.” Her savior was just as unreliable as a guy you’d meet on Omegle. As before, she turned his unfaithfulness into playful and cheeky tunes, but the longing and heartbreak still peeked through. This time, though, she broke that heartbreak and shared it with us, her faithful disciples, the reason she ever took that stage in the first place.

Early on in the show, she revealed why she returned in the first place: “I came back for you!” She’s kind of like a Juicier Jesus.