I knew halfway through Mykki Blanco’s (pronounced “Mikey Blanko’s”) SRO show at the Empty Bottle that I would feel bad afterward. The truth is that I loved everything about this gig right up until the headliner hit the stage. But I should be fair; walking into this particular show at this particular venue was like walking into a brand-new queer universe.
I know, I know—I’ve made a habit of championing the scratch-and-sniff charms of the Bottle, and rightly so since Rolling Stone has recently listed it as one of the best rock clubs in America. But this show brought out an entirely different queer crowd from any other that I’ve ever seen. The bunch packed into every square inch of the place were so eccentric, colorful, and youthful that they forced this hardened cynic to change his views on what true queerness really is. Then the show started and things got interesting.
The second opener, Banjee Report—rappers/vocalists Anthony Pabey, Mister Wallace, and Andrew Steckelmann—may very well be just what the LGBT community wants and needs; an interracial, unapologetic, hard nosed, unfussy queer collective that could care less about shying away from uncomfortable issues. Where rap has been characterized as confrontational and gritty, these guys have designed a sonic fabric that crosses cool techno with old school soul with a flow style that tumbles like a gurgling brook.
Going back and listening to some of their recordings after the show was like being sucked into an exotic all-you-can-eat buffet with a never-ending selection of rich, unpredictable, and engaging entrees. My favorite, “Underdog” opens with a seemingly pointless sound collage before shifting into an elegant stream of bouncing vocals and frigid metallic pings. “Slic Slicky” is even better with it’s pure electronic soundscape and a seamless rush of lyrics where phrases pop out like little flags. When Pabey describes himself as having “my mother’s face/my father’s dick,” it becomes impossible not to realize that Banjee Report has an entirely different take on being young and queer.
This pretty much explains why Blanco came off as clunky and flat. As a queer teenager growing up in North Carolina who found inspiration and direction from the riot grrrl movement, it seems odd that his songs don’t seem to connect with an emotion or a reality (outside of his own), or that they don’t empower or, at the very least, entertain the listener. Blanco may love rapping/singing about gay sex and mutant monsters but after all the boasts and weird lyrical content he seems to want to be taken at face value and not seriously at all.
The raging rocker “Betty Rubble” actually did move some asses on the jam-packed dance floor but after 60 seconds the bragging and clunky beats just rumbled and rambled on and on. On “Mendocino, California” Blanco declared, “I am an apocalyptic angel with plans to blow up New York and Beverly Hills!!!,” but the song had the effect not of pulling you into his demented vision (something that, say, George Clinton or Prince can do in their sleep) but to clobber you senseless.
“Head Is a Stone,” a thick stew of rants and noise, succeeded where everything else Blanco served up failed. The song kept building and building with such thunder and despair that the sheer sloppiness and cavernous feel of the thing felt like it came from another dimension. “Head Is A Stone” left me mystified to no end. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how Blanco couldn’t tell when he was being brilliant from when he was being full of shit.