From tiny doors and Whittaker’s to filthy singalongs and a full-blown rave, Ashnikko’s Smoochies Tour gave Auckland’s young, queer and colourful exactly what they came for
If you were young, queer and colourful, there was nowhere better to be in Auckland on Wednesday night than the Town Hall.
Ashnikko’s crowd looked almost as though it had been summoned from the same strange universe as the genderfluid pop provocateur themselves. Coloured hair, extravagant make-up, bows, platforms and looks that appeared to have taken considerably longer to assemble than most of us spend getting ready for a night out.
And then Ashnikko arrived.
The Smoochies show begins like a particularly unhinged version of Alice in Wonderland. While rummaging through the bottom of their bag looking for lip gloss, Ashnikko discovers a mysterious tiny door. Moments later, that same doorway has transported us into their candy-coloured universe.
From there, subtlety is never really an option.
Opening with Sticky Fingers, Ashnikko quickly has Auckland enthusiastically rapping along to the immortal line, “thigh-high boots to the puss, I don’t want a city boy scared of the bush”, before Microplastics and Lip Smacker keep the hyperpop assault coming. The latter receives an enormous reaction from a crowd that is very clearly among its people.
Backed by two hard working dancers, Ashnikko has the sort of stage presence that somehow makes a sizeable theatre feel like a very strange party they are hosting personally.
Between songs, they are funny, filthy and wonderfully conversational.
At one point Ashnikko casually announces that it is the first day of their period. The response is the kind of deafening scream of approval most pop stars might expect after announcing a number one single.
New Zealand itself is also winning them over. Ashnikko tells us they went almost directly from the aeroplane to a hike after arriving.
“I love your ferns,” they announce. “I’m really fucking with your ferns in the best way.”
Trinkets and Smoochie Girl follow, displaying the earworm quality beneath all the visual madness. For all the costumes, characters, bodily fluids and surrealism surrounding Ashnikko, they know how to write a hook.
The relationship with the crowd is just as entertaining. Gifts make their way towards the stage, including a particularly Kiwi offering of Whittaker’s chocolate.
“If anyone else has any gifts for me, the security will give them to me at the end,” Ashnikko advises, quickly putting a stop to the possibility of the Town Hall stage becoming an impromptu present pile.
As the show progresses, its sugary coating begins to crack.
The cry of “this is not an invitation” has the room singing back every word as the music moves into harder, angrier territory. It is a reminder that beneath Ashnikko’s cartoonish exterior sits an artist whose work has always found humour, rage and liberation in subjects women and queer people are so often encouraged to stay quiet about.
Then comes STUPID.
The Town Hall suddenly feels less like one of Auckland’s grandest heritage buildings and more like a rave. Bodies bounce, the bass pounds and any remaining restraint disappears.
That collision is what makes Ashnikko such an appealing live proposition. One minute they are discussing menstruation and ferns, the next they are leading a room full of queer kids through a furious communal scream.
Ridiculous, colourful, filthy and unapologetically queer, it is hard to imagine this crowd wanting them any other way.
