Big Freedia: An Ass in the Face of Propriety
Last Friday my closest friends and I attended a sold-out show at the Independent. Big Freedia, “The Queen of Bounce,” was in town. As per the tagline of his reality TV show, Big Freedia is a record-breaking, gender-bending rap musician hailing from New Orleans, who refers to himself in both the masculine and the feminine. She heralds bounce, a form of dance music that is especially conducive to the social phenomenon known as twerking.
At the Independent, Big Freedia had garnered the most diverse crowd I had ever witnessed, ranging across age, sex, and race. There were old white hippies dressed in what could only be described as desert steam-punk, well-dressed older black women, young gays, and hip yuppies. There was an old white male who straight-up looked as though he had come directly from a board meeting. It was weird, I liked it.
With the exception of a few uncontrollably drunk or incorrigibly sober individuals, everyone was dancing. The opening DJ was dope: he was playing groovy, bass-heavy, danceable hip-hop and R&B, which, as every San Franciscan knows, is nearly impossible to come by on a weekend night when you really feel like dancing.
The DJ pumped the crowd with thumping, vibrant tunes, and prepped the crowd for the Queen Diva. Finally, she stormed the stage with her dancers who could swish, shake, and twerk in a way that made Miley Cyrus look like a catatonic septuagenarian. I strategically positioned my friend group as close to the stage as possible without getting crushed. When Big Freedia started inviting the women in the audience to join her on stage, I pushed my way through and got up on stage just in time so that I was standing right next to Big Freedia herself.
At first, we were allowed to do our own thing and showcase our individual dance styles. But when Big Freedia ordered everyone on stage to put their hands down and asses up, all the women did so without hesitation. After all, we knew what we were getting into when we got up there. As the music played, two dozen asses were bumping up and down in the face of the audience that was going berserk.
Big Freedia’s music, albeit repetitive, is whimsical, joyous, and extremely danceable. Her low, booming voice carries authority and conviction that makes you feel like a chump if you don’t get up immediately and start shaking your romp. It is imperious, demanding dance music to which one gladly heeds.
Big Freedia and other musicians who make this kind of music are often criticized for sexualizing and thereby degrading women. The women who dance in this manner that defines bounce music are also reviled, and are told that they do this only because they never learned to respect themselves. No one denies the overtly sexual nature of twerking. It’s akin to spreading your legs with short shorts on, which is what it is, essentially. Then why do we do it? Why do we agree to be reduced to asses in the air? Are we so desperate for attention? Such acts certainly garner attention due to their explicit sexual nature, and this in turn gives the actors power in as much as sexual promiscuity translates to clout in this day and age.
But what most people fail to see is that putting your butt up in the air and twerking is not only sexual, but it is also funny, goofy, and unbelievably athletic. Could it be that one may interpret an overtly sexual, dancing female body as something other than sexual? It is an ass in the face of propriety and the social stigma against the sexualization of the body, the female body in particular.
The public outrage against twerking and bounce music recalls the furor that Manet’s Olympia evoked in nineteenth century Parisian society, when the artist portrayed the courtesan staring directly and shamelessly at her onlookers. The female body is unsafe and inappropriate unless one steals furtive glances at it unbeknownst to the object herself. Big Freedia’s unique position as one of the first openly gay rap musicians opens up the possibility of such unconventional interpretations of an objectively sexual female body. It’s the reappropriation of the female body by females; it’s proclaiming one’s sexual energy and expressing it in a way that is offensive to moral norms.
Big Freedia’s strength as a performer and trailblazing bravery suggest that there’s nothing to be afraid of, and, more accurately, that one needs courage to express oneself (Lazer fans unite). After all, shaking your romp is nothing compared to a black man coming out in the South. One should not gawk at or condemn it, but celebrate and participate in the liberalization of sexuality.
