When you throw in the Storm King element, it’s even more mind boggling that this is all happening. Who knew this was a thing, that someone—even Charli XCX—could just commandeer the run of Storm King, a one-of-a-kind destination that houses pieces by over 150 artists throughout rolling fields? When I coincidentally meet John Stern, the president of Storm King and great grandson of its founder, in the tee-shirt handout line, he tells me “the artist reached out” and asked if the center could pull it off. Looking around at the lug sole boots and bleached curly mullets, it’s a new crowd, he admits, which is exciting. “We’ve done a lot of events, especially music, since we opened in 1960,” Stern says. “But that’s usually more classical music, or jazz.” He’s wondering if this event may kick off a new trend in visitorship. When TV show Master of None filmed an episode at the park in 2017, entrances spiked by 40% immediately following the airing, he says, and it was mostly people in their 20s and 30s on dates, just like the show depicted. I pray that if I return to Storm King later this fall, I’ll find myself surrounded by a crowd with “365 Party Girl” shirts and an affinity for poppers. (Sounds like Stern does, too?)
When Charli’s black Escalade finally rolls through the fields, stopping beside the stage, my eardrums nearly rupture from the cheers. A guttural “MOTHERRRRRRRR” is screamed by the person right next to me, as we glimpse her furry coat and signature curls bouncing toward her rightful place at the helm of the mania. “How motherfuckin’ sick is this?” Charli shouts into the microphone, while climbing onto the stage, to another explosion of cheers. “I’m going to play you some songs from the album, even though I know it leaked—like ha, ha—but I know that no one here listened, and if you’re singing along, I’ll know you did,” she winks at the crowd. (At this exact moment, I get a text from my friend Brett in California, with a ZIP file sharing the title of the not-yet-released album.) On stage, Charli simply hits play from her phone—the brattiest move of all—and her remix of “Von dutch” featuring Addison Rae booms through the space, reverberating off the auburn trees around us. Everyone is suddenly jumping, phones are swaying in the air, and fellow brats are glancing at their friends, unable to believe their luck.
We vibe for an hour, as once synthy song clicks to the next. Charli plays the “Sympathy is a knife” remix with Ariana Grande. We hear “Mean girls” redone with Julian Casablanca. We get through almost the entire album before Charli screams into the microphone, “Guys, I’ve got to go to Denver!” cackling at the insanity of it all, and plays herself out with “Girl, so confusing” featuring Lorde. Soon enough, the music will shut off and the rest of us will repeat our own journeys in reverse, filing back into shuttles and trains and traffic lines and reality. But it was worth it for this shared moment of “Can you believe we did that?”—even while knowing we’ll go just as far for a show the next chance we get.
