Murder raps, baths of blood and misandrist fan art: meet Ashnikko, the enfant terrible of MeToo
Twenty-four-year-old, London-based rapper Ashnikko's breakthrough punk rap smash Stupid was accompanied by a video that saw the rising star murdering an ex with a bloody axe, her delicate pixie features smeared in blood, her laugh manic and childish. The YouTube video is on 44 million views and counting, while the top comment reads: This is how Christian moms see Billie Eilish.
With brilliantly catchy songs rooted in sexual liberation and making bad boyfriends feel about three-feet tall, blue-haired American Ashnikko (real name Ashton Nicole Casey) is one of the most provocative voices in pop right now, helping young women feel unbreakable and heartbreak seem like a minor set-back.
Her unique brand of X-rated yet caramel sweet pop anthems ferociously straddle genres such as hip hop, emo, punk, and indie, and her penchant for using cartoonish violence to flip the male gaze has made her one of 2020’s breakout stars, with 12 million monthly listeners on Spotify and high-profile admirers such as Miley Cyrus (who recorded a TikTok cover of Stupid), and Grimes.
If you thought a naked Miley Cyrus straddling a wrecking ball was controversial, well, just wait until you see Ashnikko dressed as a devil riding a giant red chili with horns coming out her breasts in the video for Daisy.
Perhaps pop music has been too nice for a while now, which makes Ashnikko sending out blue sex toys to journalists (male and female) to drum up anticipation for her upcoming mixtape Demidevil, or brazenly pledging to “push you off the balacony when no one’s around” to a cheating-ex feel like a blunt reset. The fact Ashnikko raps about castrating men in a syrupy baby voice is a fascinating juxtaposition, like a Slim Shady LP-era Eminem had he exchanged all the anger and chainsaws for glitter and kitsch Halloween outfits. In Ashnikko songs being a freak isn’t an insult, but a term of endearment.
Ashnikko, calling from Zoom with her video turned off, tells me that she’s always enjoyed telling bawdy stories. ”I got suspended in school because I wrote a dirty story about my teacher and passed it around the class,” the 24-year-old admits, giggling in that endearing if slightly unnerving trademark titter. “Me and my friend used to draw cartoons of naked women and sell them to all the boys. We were 12-year-olds selling porno to 12-year-olds. It was a strange little side hustle. I was a naughty little kid.”
Growing up in a sexually repressed, deeply conversative town in North Carolina, Ashnikko says her “fascination” with sex (hearing Lil Kim’s “Suck My...” made her want to rap) was a way of feeling free and owning her pleasure instead of having it governed by restrictive forces, whether that be the Church or the judgement of peers. “I come from a place where you have to get married at 18 just so you can start having sex, which was always crazy to me,” she adds. “[With my music] I want women to reclaim their sexuality, and not to feel ashamed about it.”
It’s been a long road to the top. Ashnikko recalls feeling like an outsider as a teenager after her parents suddenly moved from their family home in North Carolina to Eastern Europe: “I am still grappling with some anger at my parents for making me go to public schools in Latvia and Estonia, where like no one spoke English. It was really tough for me. It made me an outsider and probably stunted my social skills, but it also forced me to entertain myself by getting lost more and more in my imagination.”
The artist moved to London by herself at 18 with no connections in the music industry. However, she quickly “found” herself in a country that has always loved eccentrics with a dark sense of humour. Her deep south accent holds a slight eastern European twang as well as a British affectation, but this only adds more colour to all of the nutty, Nicki Minaj-esque, alter-egos that litter her songs.
Ashnikko released her brilliant debut EP, Sass Pancakes, back in 2017. It was a raunchy, infinitely quotable collection of raw rap stories that felt like Cartoon Network for adults. Each release since has sounded more and more polished, culminating in career-best single Daisy. The song has number one single written all over it, with cheeky horns, exhilarating shifts in tone, and punchy lyrics that feel like ready-made internet memes. It makes you feel like a teenager again. “F--k a princess, I'm a king / Bow down and kiss on my ring / Being a bitch is my kink,” Ashnikko spits, triumphantly.
“I definitely try to flip the male gaze and make CIS men feel uncomfortable; that’s so important,” Ashnikko says when I ask her why it is important to be a King rather than a Queen. “Historically Kings held all the power, but I would like to feel some of that power now. Why can’t I be a King? I’m reclaiming it. I think King is gender neutral now, anyways. That alpha male gaze is no longer specific to any one gender. I want to reclaim my sexuality, and for it to have nothing to do with how men see me.”
Another 2020 single Cry, featuring Grimes doing her best impression of a gothic cyber fairy, was a chance for Ashnikko to show the pain that sits behind all the bravado. “I can’t sing that hook anymore as there was no much pain in me that day, which I don’t feel anymore,” she admits. “I tried to be vulnerable opposed to this super strong dominatrix character that could never hurt. It’s a pretty straight forward song: my best friend f--cked my boyfriend.”
Delayed until early next year because of Covid-19, Ashnikko’s first mixtape Demidevil, of which these two singles both appear, feels like the moment that will truly solidify her as a household name. Arguably the new mixtape’s most memorable moment is its closer, Clitorus The Musical, where Ashnikko’s flow mimics an orgasm for a kitsch stage show where she tries to educate men on how to understand female pleasure, before giving up and resorting back to a sex toy.
There’s clearly interesting sexual politics that underpin a lot of Ashnikko’s music. However, I also wonder if all the references to murdering exes and swatting away men like irritating flies could be ripe for misunderstanding. Would a male artist be cancelled for hyping up fan art that depicts murder? Or is this simply a different take on horrorcore rap; one where the men are in the crosshairs and the women are finally given a chance to be the desirable anti-heroes.
“I have two little brothers, who I love being a professional big sister to, so I don’t hate men, no. I make sure they watch documentaries about feminism,” Ashnikko clarifies. “It’s just that I’ve been done dirty by a lot of men in my life. Most of the important men in my life have disappointed me so that anger comes out. It’s fantasy. These songs are about changing the power dynamic.”
One thing I admire about Ashnikko is how she owns her whiteness, singing in her natural accent and dressing in a goofy way that’s unique to the kind of fantastical daydream escapism a middle class Caucasian girl from a bible belt town would dream up. After years of white rappers embarrassingly putting on black accents (Iggy Azalea) and claiming inner city gang ties (Bhad Bhabie), I tell her that it’s refreshing to see.
“I think there’s been lots of white artists who come and put on this black accent for an album, culturally appropriating to the extreme,” Ashnikko answers. “Yes, I like to sing, but am never going to stop calling myself a rapper, ever! I’m proud to be one. I am very set on just being myself. it’s super important for me to know the history and roots of the music I make, and to not be a f--king a--hole by taking things and aesthetics that aren’t mine.”
With her star on the rise, Ashnikko admits that she’s scared about losing her anonymity, which could explain why she’s hesitant to offer me concrete details on her family and current relationship status. “The idea of fame isn’t a natural way of being a human being. Your brain rejects it and it is certainly breeding ground for mental illness. If you don’t have coping mechanisms then you will really spiral. It’s been a shock to the system, but I’m working on it.”
And what about her country music loving, religious family? How do they feel about seeing their daughter grow into a pop star unafraid to push people’s buttons? “My parents are supportive, but I’m from the conservative South so my extended family aren’t super excited about my career. You know how grandmas brag about their grandchildren and what they do? Well, my grandma doesn’t want her church friends to know that her grand daughter raps about p--y in her music.” She pauses. “I’m sure they’re all secretly listening to me.”
Whatever the future holds, Ashnikko says it’s important to maintain her child like impulses, right until the end. “People think my music is parody but I just don’t think I have the ability to take anything seriously. It’s to my detriment sometimes. Like, I’m sure I’ll be on deathbed laughing up a f--king storm.”
