Rebecca Black Brings Salvation To NYC

It's Thursday, March 27th 2025. I’m standing with my arms crossed in a black polo, brown wool trousers, and dirty white sneakers. I am enmeshed in a crowd of fabulously dressed gay people. As a 5’10 person, I tower above the typical gay crowd. Looming over the glammed-out dolls, hunks, and queens, I gaze admiringly around me. Young and old shes, hes, and theys all wear shimmering sequins, bare their flesh through see-through mesh, and are wearing sunglasses inside for some reason. Transgenders and genderqueers fling their hands about with every syllable they speak. People push by me, spilling their drinks with a half-assed “i’m sorry” barely coming out of their mouths before they’re already pushing past the next person. I was in heaven.

The crowd may have been squeezing, but the people were beautiful and happy. Attendees chattered away warmly and openly, and even obnoxiously through the first few songs of the night. Using my mountainous, grossly proportioned 5’10 frame, I was able to wedge myself over next to a quiet, neurodivergent gay man with a wispy beard and glasses, and a meshed top she/they with space buns.

It was between these two that suddenly, at approximately 9:05, a neon countdown went up.

60 seconds.

The crowd roared.

“59.”

“58. “

The clock ticked loudly with every passing second.

“43.”

“42.”

People continued to twitter away.

“30.”

“29.”

Whistles and wolf calls erupted from the audience.

“12.”

“11.”

The countdown disappeared.

“10.”

“9.”

Billboards are projected onstage.

“8.”

“7.”

Each promised us the same thing.

“6.”

“5.”

Salvation was coming.

“4:”

The crowd began to chant:

“3.”

“2.”

“1.”

SALVATION IS HERE. The final sign read before transforming into a grainy video projected onto the stage.

Rebecca Black’s face appeared, massive and barely contained to the square frame, to the sound of thunderous applause.

Over the resulting clamor, you could barely hear the mysterious voice asking her: “What’s your name?”

“Rebecca.” She responds dryly.

“What’s your full name?”

“Rebecca Renee Black.”

“Do you know what day of the week it is?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“GIVE IT TO US!” a man screams in the crowd.

It doesn’t matter what day it is anymore. It doesn’t matter the time, where we are, or who we are. Because at that exact moment, one single word appeared to tell us everything we needed to know.

“Friday.”

“It’s Friday.” Rebecca’s voice echoes out before collapsing in on itself beneath a wall of noise, and hot, flashing white lights.

Everything freezes – the sound cuts out and the lights quit flashing. In the stillness, a spotlight shines. Two dancers strut out in Leak Your Sex Tape bodysuits, miniskirts and sequin sailor hats. They stop promptly in the middle of the stage. There’s a brief pause as the crowd takes them in – suddenly the dancers embrace each other. Mouths open, tongues panting, they’re giving each other the sloppiest, wettest, most passionate kiss of all time. The crowd is screaming, they’re eating up every moment of it. As the dancers grope each other, you can see every detail – their tongues touching, hands squeezing and scratching and pulling, hips grinding – they clearly can’t get enough. As suddenly as they came together, they push away and pivot into a kneel to await their queen with their backs to the audience. Out Ms. Rebecca Black strides, bundled and bound in fur scarves and a head wrap, to the staccato rhythm of “Tears In My Pocket.”

As she begins to sing, her dancers flank her side, and begin to untie her. After releasing her arms, they move to unfurl her head wrap. Tugging at the sides, the wrap comes apart in long see-through swathes of silk which they pull towards opposite ends of the stage. It’s as though she has wings. This elicits more screams, and a couple “MOTHER”s from the crowd. Now fully freed from her restraints, she finally dances in sync with her dancers, and us, her subjects.

This is all in the first song.

If any of you are unfamiliar with Rebecca Black’s return to pop stardom, it’s time to get acquainted. Nearly a decade after she first rose to YouTube notoriety, she has since appeared as a contestant on the last season of the reality tv show The Four, released two critically acclaimed LPs, performed an outrageously fun techno Boiler Room set, and will even being opening up for Katy Perry in her Lifetimes tour starting this May. Talk about hitting the hay!

And if any of you doubt her ability to perform, then fucking shame on YOU! You should be embarrassed of yourself for thinking that. Erase her silly teenage image from your mind – she has transformed into a pop dominatrix queen who commands crowds as easily as a queen in her castle.

Or, at least, she tried to command us. New York I love you, but I’ve learned because everyone passes through the city, the crowds can be a little less passionate or committed than other places. Unfortunately, this time was no exception.

When Ms. Rebecca Black says to “Jump!”, you better fucking JUMP. Imagine my dismay upon seeing a half-assed attempt from the crowd at listening to her demands. Granted, at least people weren’t being obnoxious and trampling over each other, but still. It’s women’s history month, the least we could’ve done was gone along with it. Let’s do better next time, Brooklyn.

Back to the show – Rebecca Black has immaculately plotted and planned out every step, rhythm, and movement of her hour-long performance, and the payoff is evident. She moves in perfect harmony with her dancers, only to exit the stage at a moment's notice for a video intermission, adding another fun, playful layer to her performance. I couldn’t help myself from cackling with glee about the ludicrousness of seeing this pop star projected on screen in massive platform heels, stomping around grass and picnic foods, swinging a bat.

Some other moments worth celebrating. Again, the choreography was immaculate and everything you could want from a pop performance. At one point, Black gets on her knees as her dancers push her around on a mini dolly while she’s holding this long LED pole which bathes her in a soft blue while shimmering lights dance behind her. Later, the sticks seemed to appear in the dancers’ hands, and now they’re the ones putting the spotlight on Black as she screams, dances, and shakes her ass.

I’d also be remiss not to mention the moment where Black’s dancers marched out holding fucking RIFLES to “American Doll”, not only because I was stunned, but because I’m fairly certain I heard at least a couple of people around me loudly gasp.

To cap the night off, Black ended with a very tongue-in-cheek karaoke cover of Katy Perry’s “Ur So Gay”, paired with a looping video of someone googling “target pride collection 2024” and scrolling through the site.

The whole thing was so silly and fun – and that’s the point.

In my review of Rebecca Black’s Salvation album, I wondered, “who is this album for right now?” I knew the answer, but it took seeing it performed live to really internalize it.

Rebecca Black is for the queers. She’s for the gays, the queers, the weirdos, the pets, freaks, fetishists, those who just want nothing more than to be themselves and have fun while doing so. As a member of the queer community, she knows how special it is to have a place for ourselves. Her performance is dedicated to giving us a night to celebrate ourselves without the pressure of performatively. For an hour, we can all believe that it is Friday. The least we can do is continue to celebrate her at the same time.

Written By: Peter Samuel Swan

Photos By: Jenny Jaser