Good art makes you feel. It lets you leave carrying a portion of the artist in your care. It’s revived in every retell and dies a slow death hoping to make its way into our lives again. The same way the b-roll of our youth guest stars at the front of our consciousness without notice.

At the show, beyond the frustration of how certain people take up space so unabashedly, how they stomp on your joy with their abandon of basic consideration, something else was happening. Sidebar: I know why Noname¹ stopped doing concerts. The same way I know Tyler² hates that he can’t grieve with his fans. The same way “I know why the caged bird sings³“. I won’t elaborate here. But even in my irritation at how no place seems sacred, how nothing can save a negress⁴ from the ailments of caucasity⁵, I still saw my spirit on that stage. I heard a Black woman proclaim, “I’m, oh, so expensive, so addictive, you get no attention,” and on that Wednesday night even the most entitled, oblivious, tiresome corners of San Diego became gang⁶ for a few hours.

And those few hours slipped into minutes. “Nothing gold stays⁷“, but I was still a witness. A missionary leaving with the need to spread the gospel of the Swamp Princess⁸. The way I could justify spending hours curating my uniform, leaving work with no PTO, hopping on a plane to share mileage with her for a night. Another 27-year-old, darkskin, queer, Black woman. Nerdy, passionate, an artist with too much to say, recycling the same air as me. She became rock. She became indomitable. She became everything when she had nothing. She spread herself out and took space where there was none. Where they convinced her there was none. She said look at me until the labels couldn’t deny a “b***h this Black.” She went ten toes down and dug her feet in. This was her moon landing. Happily, her grave. Habibti⁹, this is the kind of dream you die for.

I thought representation had long since stopped affecting me. Obama’s presidency gave me mouth sores and the Black men I’ve worked and lived under gave me silence when I sought shelter. And yet I love them because I love me. I brace for apprehension from my kin more than anything else. Still, this sold-out show felt like it was just for me. Which brings me back to my initial point. Good art makes you feel but great art, because we can only afford to be great, requires that you respond.

And my response was to push the limits of my useless iPhone with no storage and no camera quality, making a feeble attempt to document the moment. To commit myself to climbing and being gluttonous with the air in the room, forcing myself to be perceived to the point of discomfort and heard because I needed to scream, to growl to “Tell a b**ch Hoorah, Step up in this b**ch [and] look too fly” And the world doesn’t know it yet, but it needs me too.

It needs me too.

1. Noname – A Chicago rapper, poet, and activist known for her intimate jazz-rap sound and critiques of capitalism, racism, and the music industry. She has been outspoken about the emotional toll of performing for predominantly white audiences and has taken breaks from touring because of it. ↩︎
2. Tyler the Creator – A Los Angeles rapper, producer, and designer celebrated for his genre-bending albums and elaborate live shows. ↩︎
3. A reference to the Robert Frost poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” which reflects on the fleeting nature of beauty, youth, and perfect moments. Often used to highlight how precious things fade quickly. ↩︎
4. An outdated, offensive term used to describe a Black woman particularly a darkskin but used with power and reclaimed by the author. ↩︎
5. Caucasity – A colloquial term describing the boldness, entitlement, or obliviousness often associated with whiteness or white privilege. Typically used humorously or critically to describe intrusive or inconsiderate behavior rooted in racial power dynamics. ↩︎
6. Gang – A colloquial term meaning community, solidarity, or temporary kinship. Often used to describe a moment when a group of strangers move in sync, support each other, or share a collective feeling. In this context, it highlights how even an unfamiliar, sometimes irritating crowd briefly became unified during the concert. ↩︎
7. A reference to Maya Angelou’s poem “Caged Bird” from Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing? and her memoir I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. The symbol of the caged bird represents the oppression of Black people and the longing for freedom, joy, and voice. ↩︎
8. Doechii – A Tampa-born rapper, singer, and performer known for her theatrical style, genre fusion, and unapologetic Black femme expression. Nicknamed the Swamp Princess, she blends surrealism, character work, and Southern Black culture into her live performances. ↩︎
9. “My beloved” (feminine) in Arabic ↩︎