The late 90s: a time of hedonism and questionable sexual politics, ladettes boasting about going to lapdancing clubs, and “video vixens” on MTV: the bikini-clad harem beloved of rappers who would label them bitches while the camera salivated over their slo-mo gyrations. These “hip-hop honeys” are the inspiration for Dutch dance artist Cherish Menzo’s Jezebel, a deconstruction, or maybe detonation, of this hypersexualised image of black women.
Menzo is not about to get the party started. Jezebel’s soundtrack, by Michael Nunes, is a low, sinister rumble that makes for a wholly unsettling hour. She comes dressed in pink PVC shorts, a crop top, white fur coat and fake nails that double the length of her fingers. As she crouches on the stage, those tendril-like nails become scuttling spiders legs, sending a shiver down your spine. She has a camera sending close-up images to the screen behind her: lips painted in purple glitter, wet pink tongue emerging like a sea creature. She’s atomising the image, pulling apart its power with disgust and ridicule. She takes some of the vixen’s moves, kneeling on the floor, quietly bouncing her booty, asking us to think about what we see, what a body means, as you hear the squeak of her PVC pants.
