Photo by Anna Downs
“It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now...”
There are very few artists that could open their set up with Lady Antebellum as their walk out song. Most professional musicians would typically walk out to one of their own songs, something carefully selected and workshopped, maybe a remixed or special one-night-only rendition of one of their songs to get the crowd hot right off the rip. But Lady A? The song they use to kick people out of the bar at closing time? It's a highly unconventional approach, but then again, Kevin Abstract has never been a particularly conventional artist.
Lady Antebellum slowed and faded, being replaced by a discordant warbling synth note. “Hey hey can you hear me out there?” Abstract bounced into view wearing paisley shorts and a cable knit sweater as the growling synth was replaced by the grandiose operatics and melancholic piano keying of Abstract's "Empty." “Two hands in the sky for me!” he demanded before he began mumbling the first verse. Every hand in the crowd reached high into the sky, a relatively young crowd I might add, save for the occasional parent chaperoning a child in a stiff iridescence t-shirt. “Is everybody ok, ok, ok?" Abstract fished into the crowd upon making it through the final moments of "Empty," quickly being replaced by a new version of the song remixed with Lauryn Hill's "Ex Factor. “This feels right, I don’t know," Abstract giggled out into the crowd. "Do y'all feel good?”
“Was my walkout awkward at all? A little awkward,” Abstract asked the audience, singling out an unsuspecting fan. “I see you looking at me like ‘it was a little awkward.'" The audience laughed as they put the shocked fan up on the stage screens. “Life without BROCKHAMPTON is awkward," Abstract admitted to the crowd. "For me, not for y'all though, y'all be tweeting out mean shit." Everyone laughed, but admittedly, that was probably an incredibly difficult thing for him to share even disguised as an off kilter joke.
BROCKHAMPTON was as big a part of Abstract's youth and development as it was for every closeted Vans wearing high schooler in 2017 and '18. They were conquering the world, but at their core, they were just a bunch of kids. They were splattered together under different circumstances but united by the music; misfits among misfits, and I don't think I'm alone in saying that's half of what drew me to BROCKHAMPTON. They were like a strange, otherworldly caricature of my own ragtag group of friends, they were growing up and figuring out young person shit, same as us. But I think the disconnect occurred when founding member Ameer Vann was removed from the band.
For those that don't know, Vann exited BROCKHAMPTON following sexual abuse allegations, shocking fans and the band alike. I even remember waking up and seeing the announcement on Instagram, it was a really sobering moment. Anyone will tell you that was the first sign of the downfall of the supergiant that was BROCKHAMPTON, one that still clouds the bands legacy today. For us it was just "kicking Ameer out," we could be mad about it and go on about our day and move on, but for them, it wasn't just an "aw what?" moment. They had to kick out their bandmate, their friend, their brother, and then deal with the consequences of his actions, as well as the massive hole he left behind. Recognizing the mood shift, Abstract moved quickly to get back on track, shouting out Tupac and singling out another fan holding up a sign which read, "this is a gays only event." He saw it and laughed. “I don’t even understand that one,” he smiled.
Abstract moved haphazardly and awkwardly through the beginning of his set, cutting several songs short or forgetting the lyrics to several of his old verses. "Empty" was closely followed by his most recent single, “Tennessee” with Lil Nas X, but was cut short abruptly and without explanation. Abstract stood center stage, hand on his hip and mic to his lips, looking down at his set list as if he was reading it for the first time. “I’m trying to navigate this," he sighed. "Thank you for being patient with me." He took an extra moment to reminisce on having similar issues at Coachella with fellow BH founding member, Dom McLennon, before introducing his next song. “The next song I’m going to do is a BROCKHAMPTON song." The crowd rattled and screamed in excitement, but Abstract was quick to manage expectations, stating very plainly, "Ameer's not coming out though.”
He took a deep breath before nodding that he was ready to start. “I’m like flustered, the energy is beautiful,” he beamed out into the crowd. “I may forget my lyrics.” The syncopated melody of "BUZZCUT" began circulating through the speakers. The crowd followed long, screaming the lyrics out in unison, before Abstract unexpectedly cut the song short as well. "Stop, stop," he shook his head, letting out an exasperated laugh. "I fucked it up so bad, fuck. Can we go to the next one?” They transitioned quickly into "STAR," a SATURATION 1 standout, playing only his verse, which he flew through with no issues. “Ok, that was better,” he was starting to sound more confident in his set. “If I got a gay lyric on it I’ll remember every word; cosplaying as a straight man, stop it, Ian!"
Abstract floated back to stage tile where his set was taped and began reading intensely once again, now clearly unsure of his setlist. As he looked back up, he grinned bashfully back out into the crowd. “I’m curious, what did you expect to happen?” he giggled to himself as he climbed onto the platform ramp constructed behind him on stage. "Big Pussy," the lead single for the penultimate BH album, The Family (which, between you and me, dear reader, was just a cleverly disguised Kevin Abstract solo project). Dry ice began to pollute the stage, so much so you almost couldn't see Abstract planted atop the stage structure. As he sat high above the stage and the sea of rookie and veteran fans, Abstract made his way through several of his more heartfelt and intimate songs, putting "Georgia," "Peach" and "Baby Boy" (a song he described as 'awkward and stupid') from his polarizing 2019 album, ARIZONA BABY, hot on each other's heels. While not necessarily downtrodden or slow songs by themselves, as a cohesive unit, they painted an incredibly unique portrait of the true intentions behind the songs, and perhaps the album as a whole. Rather than three separate tales of the Southern gay experience, they came together in that moment to tell a far more nuanced story of juvenile fear, the bliss in new beginnings and the birth of a new norm in Abstract's life. “Thank you so much,” he blew heavily into the crowd. “I think I was better performer before I got Lasik, I got Lasik surgery, and now I can see some people in the crowd judging me hard as fuck.”
"I just realized I haven't introduced myself yet, I'm Ian." The crowd greeted him in kind. “I shouldn’t say that, there’s another Ian out there, I'm Kevin, I guess." He shrugged his shoulder, “Am I giving Kevin?” Without a moment to decompress from the preceding songs, Abstract signaled for the stage hands to queue in "TEXAS BLUE," a song he was featured on from Quadeca's SCRAPYARD earlier in the year. The crowd began having a collective melt down, screaming the chorus with tears in their eyes. Abstract marched senselessly across the stage, stomping and flailing his clenched fists, as the park vibrated, "but who asked you?" As the orchestral section of the final chorus cut deeper into Abstract and his already wounded fans, he hastily waved to cut the song short. He wiped his eyes and a took a sharp breath in, "It was feeling a little too real.”
After a brief argument with a misguided fan about who won the Drake-Kendrick beef (which concluded with the entire audience booing the fan for his baseless support of Drake's antics), Abstract announced he only had one more song left. “I’m not gonna cap, I thought this show was gonna suck, I’m having so much fun,” he joked. “New York scares me, I’m a Texas girl.” And then he laughed. He had been laughing and joking the whole set, but this time he laughed with us, a real joyful laugh, like something he'd been holding onto for a long time had finally dissipated. He played his last song, “Voyager,” a delightfully melancholy song, and he sang. He sang like he'd been waiting forever to sing that song, like he was singing away years and years worth of troubles, like if he didn't sing that song, he'd only be undoing all the progress he'd made that day. "Voyager" faded out and the crowd exploded into applause. Abstract looked out over the sea of people, his arms slumped down at his side and his face filled with exhaustion and fulfillment.
We had all walked into to that set that day with a notion of what was supposed to happen or what we were supposed to get out of it. But as he gazed out into that crowd and as we gazed right back up at him, he seemed to be passing along a level of deep and profound understanding, like something he'd been chipping away at for years had finally clicked, and the unspoken seemed to click for us too. He raised his mic once more to speak, taking a deep breath... only to be cut off by Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" barreling out of the speakers. He burst into laughter, his hands dropping back to his sides after all the dramatic tension instantly evaporated, “Not Michael playing; wait, can we pause the Michael?" He raised his hands above his head and thanked the crowd with all the politeness of a corn-bread-fed Texas gal, and turned gloriously to make his exit. He looked back over his shoulder once more, threw up a 'w' and shouted, “Hell yeah, New York, west side!”
Kevin Abstract will be touring this Fall supporting Omar Apollo.
Rob Lucchesi
Kevin Abstract
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