Dear Rocka readers,
A few weeks ago, I saw an application form for a private concert hosted in DTLA for one of my favorite artists, Chika. I found Chika through her 2020 album Industry Games which was quickly followed by an obsession with her NPR Tiny Desk concert. I love tiny desks as much as the next mildly music-y person around, but there’s something special about hers. Her band doesn’t miss a beat, there is an unmistakable chemistry between Chika and the NPR audience, and her sound soars.
Chika is not only one of my no-skip artists, but she’s an artist that I find myself in the precise mood for. She doesn't show up on many of my playlists (for which I am sort of known) because I don’t find music that resonates with me in the same way hers does. Curating playlists and grouping music is one of my passions. It grants me some sense of control over the massive and daunting Music Library. But I know what to play whether I’m getting ready for a date, on a drive across the country, or being challenged by some music guy to “play something” as I’m skeptically handed the aux.
She’s one of those artists that if I’m playing, I expect complete silence from those around me. And every so often, I get the glazed-eye look of conversion from a friend.
Her song “FWB” which teased the release of her second 2021 EP, “ONCE UPON A TIME,” is my third most listened to song on Spotify ever. I remember casually turning it on when she released it and then staring at the wall for the next three minutes in shock. “FWB” has this seductive, almost low vibrational element to it that catches listeners in its honey. I’ve tried to stray away from weird metaphors when describing music because an artist once told me he had “sticky basslines,” and I felt violated. But I mean the honey thing. It’s smooth as hell.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw the subject line “See you tonight!” in my spam folder 2 hours before the event starts.
Now I’m alone in LA with one invite to a dream show whose details I have none. I went to my Instagram story and posted the following, which Chika then proceeded to post to her account. Imagine your first interaction with one of your favorite artists being a joke about peeing your pants at their show. Rocka Mag, baby.
After frantically trying to find a place to park that wouldn’t involve my sudden death or the robbery of half my belongings, I begged a nice valet man at a local restaurant to allow me to leave my car there. One hour and a few tears later, I made it to the venue.
Chika is a part of AT&T's Emerging Voices program, which seeks to “elevate diverse voices in music, connect fans with the music they love, and spark discovery of new sounds,” according to their website. I had no idea what this was, nor did I really care, but it was jarring to pull up to a sketchy warehouse near Skid Row and see a bunch of violently blue and white corporate decorations.
The setting was supposed to reflect a fairytale and bring her EP to life. There were massive plants and fake flowers that corresponded with the colors of her album covers, themed cocktails named after tracks, and even an interactive magic mirror that would take photos and play videos.
None of this really meant anything, at least not to me. Chika came onto stage, surrounded by faux foliage and devoted fans, ready to perform her first set in months. Predictably, she was amazing. Although I missed the fullness of a live band supporting her vocals like on her Tiny Desk show, she held the audience down with her magnetism. Between songs, she’d talk about the process of releasing her music after the horror story of 2020. You could tell that she still held a heaviness in her heart about how her second EP was received, a feeling I’m sure many artists are familiar with when it’s clear an audience is more familiar and engaged with older, more popular material. But there was no hesitance in her flow. She performed every single song with as much vigor and passion as the last, making the setlist feel like a stance. She seemed to say, “I’m here. I’m only going up.”
The major theme that I see appear in her work the most is triumph. Triumph over racial, gender, and societal expectations that in some way shape or form challenge us all. That night she triumphed over a strange and really difficult few years for her career and personal life.
What I love most about Chika is not the fact that she puts on elaborately decorated shows with drinks named after her. It’s her rawness. Her ability to express the full spectrum of human emotion unflinchingly. Whether it's in her lyrics or on her internet feeds, you won’t find someone so unabashedly herself. She’s open about her mental health struggles, feuds within her life and the music industry, and the realities of a warped world that we live in.
A few times during the show, she teared up. Sometimes it was a bit, but other times it was clear that she was overwhelmed by the crowd. I won’t editorialize what happened in those moments, but I can say that the crowd was right there with her. Open arms. Swaying hips. Eyes glazed over. Chika’s magic is in her humanness. It is shows like hers that remind me how important all of this is, “industry games” aside.
Listening to Chika feels like you’ve won. Even if you’re still in the trenches, she’ll make you feel like the dirt you’re surrounded by is made of diamonds.
Until next time,
Rocka Out