Blessings, Hard Truths, and Clay Hands: 070 Shake at the El Rey Theater

She is reminding me that we are all breathing the same air. Quite literally though, as 070 Shake leads an almost sold out crowd at the El Rey Theater in a breathing exercise as an interlude between tracks. They aren't hesitant to remind their crowd that the space that we are sharing is valuable and intimate. At one point, in an attempt to shush the crowd from talking over them, they wait for us all to collect ourselves, and only after our silence does she reinitiate her interactions. They are prophetic in their use of language, reminding us all of the divine intervention that put us all there that night with her. “We are all here for a reason,” she tells us after her performance of “Medicine” from her latest album, You Can’t Kill Me.

I discovered 070 Shake through Kanye West. I am name-dropping him here only because he remains an origin to this experience. 070 Shake’s voice perfectly cushions ye’s raspy verses on ye. She became an unforgettable, and now indisposable, part of the project. When I think about her and her music I can’t help but reach into nostalgia and reminisce on what it felt like to melt into her voice while cruising shotgun in Kat’s Subaru down PCH on stoned summer nights, or screaming her lyrics out my car window on the way to my high school graduation. Her voice feels like endlessness, like her voice and my body and the moment that it is all existing in, will last forever. I felt like that when I heard her sing “History” live, another track off of You Can’t Kill Me. The girl behind me gasped when we all heard the first lick of the song. I did too– it’s my favorite song off the album. 070 Shake speaks in potentials: the potential of a future that is as much love as it is honest, and what is the potential that those are both the same thing? What is the promise of our future, and how can we get there together? What are the things that excite us in the present, that promise us bright futures? I am reminded of my youth through her music, something I feel so attached to. Seeing 070 Shake live felt somewhat like an ode to my teenage-self, letting her roam free for the night. I forgot how heavy the pit feels, and how fun it is to carry the weight of a crowd. I forgot what it felt like to scream lyrics at the face of a stranger next to me, knowing that they are only screaming them louder.

Shake's mic was tuned the entire set, but their sound is never lost to the live production aspect. Her voice rattles through you, and with how close I was to the stage, I could feel the sound in my shoes even as I walked out of the venue. The crowd was following her every move, like disciples to a prophet. She doesn’t even have to command us, we just know. We trust her; her music has yet to steer us wrong. The crowd was a mix of folks - queer girls who know what’s good for them and hyper masculine Kanye fans who should not have worn their Yeezy 500s in the pit. We were all brought together that night under Shake’s guiding vocals, perhaps the only time harmony can exist under these circumstances. The El Rey is perfectly cozy, and 070 Shake easily made it her home. It is true, you can’t kill her. Nothing can kill the passion of their presence. I like to say 070 Shake makes music for the soul and not in the traditional sense, but in the sense that I felt so grounded, even as I was being chucked around the mosh for an hour and a half.

There’s a moment towards the very end of the show right before shake performs their closing number, “Ghost Town.” A table arrived on the stage with a bowl of wet clay, and before the audience could react, 070 Shake shoved her hands into the clay and began to rub her hands all over her face. It was alarming, as she became something new right in front of us. With their face and hands covered in grey wet clay, they reached out into the audience and asked, “Is someone going to help me up?” Immediately, hands reached out to grab her as she secured her feet on the railing of the barricade. With her body almost entirely in the crowd at this point, she began singing the first lyric to her verse. At this point I’m standing right below her, the clay dripping down onto my arm. I still haven’t determined what the meaning of it all was. Maybe I don’t want to know, and that the experience can just live in that moment, and nowhere else.

I’m excited to know that live music is back in a way that reminds me how good it feels to be present. I’m excited for others in the crowd to be baptized by her talent, and for the experience to carry us all into a healing summer.