The people of Lowell, Massachusetts paid good money to see a Playboi Carti performance last night (December 7).
They got an exorcism instead.
And they’re fine with it, even if fans gathered inside the Tsongas Center could hear the Atlanta rapper before they could see him. Throughout the show, they hardly caught a good glimpse of Carti at all.
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout homicide,” he threatened from behind a curtain of haze, cashing in on the menace behind his mythos with opening song “Stop Breathing.” Gaggles of Gen Z fans bobbed to the chorus, iPhones in hand, eyes locked on the outline slinking behind the smog.
We’d love to tell you that the clouds cleared and Playboi Carti emerged wearing head-to-toe gothic garb. We’d love to describe the beads of sweat that probably dripped down his cheeks, trickling from his shades into the mask obscuring most of his face. But the self-proclaimed “King Vamp” rarely revealed himself during the 90 minute set, instead sticking to the shadows of his own smoky stage design.
Since sinking his teeth into vampiric themes, a la Whole Lotta Red track “Vamp Anthem,”” Carti’s taken the schtick seriously. His connection to creatures of the night creeps into his live shows; when his full figure stepped out of the smog, it crouched, bounded, and snapped, tormented like a soul stuck in the ninth circle of hell. He traded the mumble rap he usually retches for bat-outta-hell banshee screeching, a legitimately chilling — if not overused — touch to his hidden house of horrors. His parched screams punctuated the performance, often in lieu of actual rapping, with Carti serving as his backing track’s own hype man. (Someone on Twitter likened his bellows to those of a legendary Pokémon, and you know what? They’re not wrong.)
Last night’s show conjured a spooky, even secretive environment — you can’t do dark rituals in broad daylight, c’mon now — as smog periodically passed over the GA pit like a plague. But ultimately, Carti’s set felt far too secluded for a 6,500 capacity arena. A recording, not a live rapper, delivered the most macabre of Carti’s musings, and the “don’t talk to me” sentiment of “Punk Monk” felt woefully apropos when he barely spat every other bar. Calling Lowell “Boston” as he exited the stage only contributed to the disconnect.
He broke character — if you could refer to it as such — on the last song of his encore-less performance, blowing regal kisses to the crowd over his track “F33l Lik3 Dyin.” “Every day I’m dyin’,” he repeated, a fitting metaphor for the cracks in his facade during the final moments of his routine.
Keep in mind: Playboi Carti maneuvers his mystique with purpose. As far as the fans bruising each other in general admission are concerned, his act is half of his allure, especially as Carti creeps closer to convulsing with every song. Surely he knows that attraction and enigmas go hand in hand. Why ruin the fun with reality?