Ayesha Erotica - precum
Ayesha Erotica has been edging us for a while now.
After largely disappearing at the tail-end of 2018 amidst alleged doxxing attempts followed by scandal and personal tumult, the experimental popstar and producer eventually resurfaced in 2023. She promised a completed, re-mastered version of 2018’s scrapped album, horny4.u, and began releasing new singles at a steady clip, prompting a groundswell of enthusiasm within her fanbase. The consensus among diehards was that Ayesha deserved more recognition for influencing the sound of contemporary pop music. Afterall, while she was on hiatus, many of her aesthetic peers were slowly rising to prominence, which culminated in major label deals, arena tour spots, and Grammys. At the same time, it was widely agreed that Ayesha had yet to release her pop opus – a showcase of her versatility evident across the hook-filled, Shakespearean “Vacation Bible School”, the ferocious bitchslap of “for the girls 3”, and the lovesick lamentation, “funeral”.
With little warning, Ayesha finally dropped her 8-track, 20-minute “pop album”, precum – a quip about the lack of volume, or perhaps the promise of something even greater to come? She bares her teeth on the DIY cover, outfitted in a patterned hoodie, golden bikini top and surrounded by cheetah print. A smart phone just barely enters the frame. It’s unclear whether she’s horny, about to chuck an implied Big Gulp of Mountain Dew at someone, or both.
Within 20-seconds of the call-and-response opener, “WHORE IDOL”, we get our answer – Ayesha Erotica is still horny. If early 2020s pop was too fake-deep and overrun with therapy-speak (old raw), and 2024’s critical and commercial blockbuster, BRAT, ushered on a refreshing and club-ready style of confessional, stream of consciousness writing (new raw), Ayesha’s vision of pop is one predominately concerned with raw-dogging – she’s fucking fans, fucking on the freeway, fucking all night long, fucking while asphyxiated, and getting passed around by twenty of her boyfriend’s friends at once (he’s watching). Sabrina Carpenter, watch out.
On the slick “HOW2FUCK”, Ayesha finds herself in the pocket, wrapping SAT-words around a catchy talk-sing melody. The instrumental bounces and buzzes with layers of bass resonance and dial-tones. She guns for Britney-daughter status on “BITCH”, but without the coquettish, girl-next-door language of seduction the megastar perfected and, overtime, subverted. It’s an amusingly straightforward, self-deprecating song built on double entendre. “Take me to town, pass me around, ohhh, put me down”, she intones.
The twitching, throbbing hyperpop of “GANG” also proves to be a sidesplitter, as Ayesha earnestly explains the difficulty of staying on the straight and narrow when there’s so many DTF guys on offer. At the climax, she addresses a lover (screams), “there’s just something about you, that makes me wanna fuck your friends”, one of many unexpected and hilarious deliveries in an album full of them. If precum is dripping in setups, punchlines, and play on words, the stick-factor is in her ability to lace each premise with palpable desperation and heart-wrenching sentimentality. The pass-around party-bottom has a heart, too – it’s just bigger and, thus, anatomically closer to the g-spot. As she launches into the chorus on “GANG”, an ecstatic proclamation of her desire to “fuck with no protection’, all sense of recklessness is tempered by the romance and pathos underneath the sentiment – a desire to be seen, wanted, and fulfill her crowdsourced purpose.
At times, precum feels one note. Songs like “STAR 69” and “GIDDY UP” do little to innovate on Ayesha’s standard formula, though will be redeemed for some by her singular wit, always present. Her most daring, experimental impulses come at the end. The otherwise uneven “RUNAWAY” features a show-stopping, sugar rush of a chorus – pulsating and ethereal; Dance Dance Revolution in the best way. And then there’s the relentless “MENLO PARK”, her strongest offering to date – a bit-crushed to hell, full throttle confrontation with loss. Despite giving one of her most affecting vocal performances on record, the composition is simultaneously complementary and laugh-out-loud funny. The opening struts like “Shoes” by Kelly, there’s a double handclap after Ayesha reveals the subject of the song is dead, and the bridge bassline is straight-up farting. Not to mention, in the pre-chorus, she gets hit by a car, prompting screams of agony (or is it ecstasy?) à la Meg Stalter, another gifted alchemist of the heartfelt and absurd.
precum may not be the undeniable masterwork fans were hoping for, but it is a strong proof-of-concept for what a fuller-length Ayesha Erotica album could accomplish. Make no mistake – this is a leveling up; an enhanced offering of her signature loud and maximalist electropop. I expect something even more substantial and voluminous will follow.
7.9/10
