So I "saw" Mykki Blanco last night at Dalston's least user-friendly gig venue, Birthdays. In reality, I didn't see very much of her at all, as the place was absolutely heaving and I took refuge at the back (and bumped into Robert Alfons, it was that hipsterly).
Support came from Peepholes who were great, somehow gothy and lo-fi electro and the kind of thing I think Munich's premier queer indie disco Candy Club will like. Just before I lost faith in humanity, I was at the front waiting for Mykki - her DJ casually sets up and she wafts on in a cloud of weed-smelling smoke. I was told later that before each show she likes to go for a 40 minute jog (*does Miranda face to camera*). She basically announces that she'll be on in a bit. Half her show is warm up DJ, despite the fact we've all been listening to a reasonably good warm up DJ already. This is when I duck out, and so watch the show between heads.
When she finally came on, everyone went nuts and she spat out immaculate rhymes as showcased on her (underground) hit Wavvy. Of the few glipses I got, Mykki felated the mic whole. And among the bass heavy backing, she did a few acapellas, showing off her vocal talents and betraying her past in performance poetry. By the end I was beginning to wonder if I would listen to this music if it wasn't a trans (is she trans? transvestite seems like the wrong term) black rapper? Even trying to phrase a sentence with 'trans black rapper' in has my right-on sensibilities panicking and re-writing. My guilt is irrevelant anyway, until there is a utopian equality in the representation of race and gender (and sexuality, why not) in music, Mykki is a glorious thing. And she deserves to break big, working so hard to make it, one hipster at a time.