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It’s rare that a distinctly British phenomenon crosses over to North America. While U.S. artists are exported fairly easily to the rest of the world, because it is culturally dominant and now half of the Earth’s population knows about Pete Buttigieg and “cilantro” whether we want to or not, the idiosyncrasies of other cultures don’t translate so easily in the other direction. So it’s always fascinating to see what sticks and what doesn’t. Based on the bewildered reception to his biopic, in which he was played by a CGI chimp, Stoke-on-Trent boybander turned crooner Robbie Williams has zero traction across the Atlantic. The Stone Roses never achieved the same level of familiarity as other Factory-era Manchester bands, and Charli XCX only really just “arrived” there despite being a cultural institution in the UK for over a decade.

For reasons that are hard to pinpoint, one artist the U.S. does seem to have embraced immediately and without reservation is the masked Liverpudlian rap sensation EsDeeKid.

It seems unlikely, given his thick Scouse accent and colloquial lyrics, but EsDee has jumped directly from the Mersey to New York Fashion Week, Marty Supreme promo, and parts of the U.S. that by rights should have absolutely no point of reference for what “birds” and “bizzies” are. In fairness his unique mix of goth and trap, chainmail and streetwear, is just as esoteric at home as it is anywhere else, but the question remains: What do people make of EsDeeKid outside of a British context?  

Raised in Merseyside and currently living in Indiana, writer Charlotte Landrum traveled to the Chicago date of his Council House Rat tour to gauge what EsDeeKid’s U.S. fanbase looks like. What impressions do they have of Liverpool? What touchstones are they fucking with? And do they know what a council house is? One young fan mused:

“A bunch of rats, a bunch of wizards, a bunch of medieval shit.”

Read Charlotte’s full report from Chicago below:

Speaking of U.S. exports, Azealia Banks may or may not have relocated to Israel. The New York rapper and inflammatory opinion-haver posted a photo to X this week of the inside of a building—which looks like it could be either a new-build apartment or a tech start-up office—announcing that she had “moved” to Tel Aviv and was “liking it.” Fact or ragebait, it’s certainly true that Banks has vacated the Washington Heights residence where she famously sacrificed live chickens for spiritual purposes. (A video shared by the rapper in 2016 showed her going at her closet with a sand blaster to remove layers of dried blood and feathers.)

It’s not uncommon, in New York City, to move into a place previously inhabited by a celebrity. But as Eamon Levesque put it in a report for VICE:

“For Harris Ansari, discovering ‘what celeb used to live in my apartment’ helped him answer another question: ‘Why does my closet smell like this?’” 

Levesque continues:

“In May, newlyweds Harris and Avani moved into their 3-bed 2-bath on Pinehurst Ave in Washington Heights. There was plenty to love about the space—natural light, high ceilings, ample space for their cat Chutney to explore. One small concern: the floor and baseboards of the guest bedroom closet were caked in a mysterious black substance…” 

Read the full story behind the paywall below:

Emma Garland
Deputy Editor, VICE Magazine

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“Do you know who used to live here?” 

Spend enough time living in New York and you’ll inevitably hear that your block, building, or perhaps entire unit used to be the home of a celebrity. These stories become useful to impress out-of-towners (“Did you know Capote and the guy who made Grand Theft Auto lived in the same house?”) or to illustrate gentrification (Jay-Z’s stash spot from “Empire State of Mind” listed for $1.3m). But for Harris Ansari, discovering “what celeb used to live in my apartment” helped him answer another question: “Why does my closet smell like this?” 

In May, newlyweds Harris and Avani moved into their 3-bed 2-bath on Pinehurst Ave in Washington Heights. There was plenty to love about the space: natural light, high ceilings, and ample space for their cat Chutney to explore. One small concern: the floor and baseboards of the guest bedroom closet were caked in a mysterious black substance. 

“My wife made this interesting observation,” said Harris, pointing to the area in question. “She goes, ‘Why does it smell like a farm in here?’”

A born and raised New Yorker, Harris was never going to be scared off a good apartment on smell alone. On move-in day, the couple went to work steam-cleaning the apartment—only to find the heat was amplifying the smell. 

“Chutney [the couple’s cat] was definitely curious,” said Harris. “But I was like, whatever. She’s a dumb cat. Orange.”

“I was trying not to think about it,” said Avani. “But then I found a feather.”

Unfortunately, signs were pointing to the apartment smelling like birds because it once had birds in it. “Maybe not even a full feather, but like… fluff. I just tried to imagine that someone had kept hamsters there or something.”

Days later, a building meet-up with their new neighbors removed “willful ignorance” as an option.

“A new neighbor mentioned, ‘Oh hey, did you know Azealia Banks used to live in the building?’” said Harris. Banks’s blend of ballroom culture, hip-hop, and house music created some of the most enduring mephedrone burp anthems of the 2010s: “212”, “Anna Wintour”, “Big Big Beat”. The revelation piqued Harris’ interest: for one, he was a fan. For another, he had found a promo sticker for Banks’s 2016 mixtape Slay-Z on the inside of his mailbox.

Whoever put it there had the mail key for his unit.

Music aside, Banks is equally known for having a social media presence that necessitates a dedicated Wikipedia section. Among her most memorable posts: a December 30, 2016 video in which she dons goggles and uses a sand-blaster to clean out a carrion-caked closet.

“Three years worth of Brujería,” says Banks in the video, referring to the umbrella term for witchcraft rooted in indigenous Latin American and Afro-Caribbean cultures. “You know I gotta scrape all this shit up.” 

The video indicated that Banks had been using the closet for the sacrifice of live chickens. As an initiate of the African diasporic religion Palo Mayombe (overlapping with, but distinct from Brujería and Santería), the practice was of spiritual importance to Banks. By way of explanation, she tweeted that she made the sacrifices “to help my father (who is dead) out.”

At the time, the video set off an intense online debate. PETA stated that the practice constituted animal cruelty, while others noted that many religions incorporate ritual sacrifice (which is protected under the First Amendment). 

Fast-forward nine years: Harris compared the background of the video (and other livestreams from Banks) to confirm that yes, he did indeed live in Azealia’s former “witch cave.” This may also explain why the iridescent tile in the bathroom matches the album art for Banks’s 2012 Fantasea mixtape. The smoking gun came weeks later: a letter in the mail addressed to Ms. Azealia Banks.

Initially, “it was unsettling to find it out,” said Avani. But a little research and open-mindedness helped them reach closure. 

“We went down a Wikipedia rabbit hole,” said Avani, which yielded the info that Brujeria sacrifices are usually done for the benefit of someone in the afterlife. “When [Harris] said she did it for good fortune, I relaxed a bit. She wasn’t invoking anything evil here.” 

The logistics of Banks’s rituals did draw some questions from Harris: “In my research, there’s nothing in Brujería that says you don’t have to clean up after your sacrifices, and to do it in one’s home as opposed to outdoors. That’s interesting.”

Harris was also quick to acknowledge that interpretations of his own faith (Islam) can involve elements of animal sacrifice. “Initially, when you hear the word ‘sacrifice’, people go to a place of satanic panic,” he said. “But I would never be the one to judge someone’s spiritual practice. If sacrificing chickens brings you closer to who or what you believe created us, power to you. People did hit me up on Instagram saying that I had to get my home blessed, but it’s not as if she was trying to summon something evil, right? I believe that whatever energy someone gives off, they take it with them. So there was no real concern from me.” 

“In most New York City apartments, you have the luxury of not knowing what happened there,” Avani shrugged. “But in all likelihood, something you’d rather not know about did.” 

“Probably won’t tell my mom,” added Harris. 

Follow Eamon Levesque on Instagram @eamonomania

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