Cupcakke Show Review
originally published 04/10/2023 by Ringtone Magazine (read here)
I've never felt more underdressed in my life. As I stood around the Empty Bottle, I was surrounded by extravagant sunglasses, vibrant eyeshadows, and the highest platform shoes imaginable. Lined up outside the entrance, this pack of nightclub-ready, early to late 20-year-olds gave life to the unglamorous brick walls of the dive bar. If you're wondering who could've possibly commanded such an attractive crowd to come to a hole-in-the-wall venue famous for its dated decor and cheap beer, it was none other than Chicago's very own CupcakKe.
Hailing from the South Side of Chicago, Elizabeth Harris, who performs under the stage name CupcakKe, found virality in the 2010s from sharing her bold, sex-positive raps online. The 25-year-old artist is vocal about mental health and her experience with homelessness — two recurring topics of hers that often go unrecognized. She's an empowering figure for many and an artist I've followed since my teen years, so I was thrilled to see her homecoming performance.
As people began to flood the room, Miss Twink USA dominated their DJ controller with smooth, fluid blends between electronica tracks and pop anthems. A row of swaying bodies stood ground at the front of the stage, nodding their heads to the Chicago DJ's flawlessly curated mix. The following opener was another Chicago native, rapper Don't Be Kendall. With a contagious confidence, Kendall smiled through his clever, sometimes humorous raps. I fumbled with my phone, videotaping his compelling performance in one hand and balancing a High Life in the other. I was overwhelmingly proud watching one of my favorite local rappers entertain the sold-out floor.
At around 11, CupcakKe made her way to the stage, jumping right into her song “Squidward Nose.” A sea of phones immediately shot up, each flash illuminating her shiny, black cropped puffer. Despite the low height of the stage, CupcakKe felt out of reach. Her face hidden behind a pair of reflective shades, she looked like a true popstar under the glowing spotlights. She had a positive, authoritative disposition. During intermittent breaks, she would call out the promoter for rushing her set. But, to the crowd's delight, she continued to perform more songs anyway, inciting the audience to yell, “Fuck the promoter!”
CupcakKe played all the hits from “Deepthroat” to “CPR.” In between songs, she talked to the crowd, listening to each and every scream. “Peg me?” CupcakKe replied in question to a fan's request. “What that mean?” She accepted every phone thrown her way, bringing the mic down to her waist and letting the backing track play on as she took selfies with the front row. She even got into an intense, face-to-face rap exchange with a fan, leaving her in awe as she exclaimed, “I have never in six years of rapping saw anything like that, y'all.”
Her ability to engage and connect with the audience revealed a humbleness that was previously masked by her mysterious shades and seemingly superstar presence. She treated her fans well, and in return appeared genuinely surprised when they returned the favor. “'Budget!’” someone yelled. “'33rd!’” cried another. Moved by the crowd's requests for deep cuts, CupcakKe was in disbelief that people even remembered those older songs. Her down-to-earth nature was further emphasized when she paused the show to introduce her mom.
In a way, CupcakKe has her own motherly qualities. While ending the show with a heartfelt thanks to her Chicago supporters, a fan managed to crawl onstage, wrapping their arms around the artist's waist. Unfazed by the act, she lovingly welcomed the supporter with open arms. Making her way to the exit, CupcakKe was swarmed by a multitude of flashing phones. I watched as she delayed her escape to take a couple more photos before disappearing behind a door marked “Employees Only.”