Mixing sultry pop bangers with unfiltered aggression, Doja Cat defies expectations placed on female performers can do – while delivering an incredible show, writes Greta Simpson
Doja Cat brought the house down at Co-Op Live yesterday (May 23) with an electrifying set that proved she is far from finished pushing the boundaries of what female artists can do on stage.
The Los-Angeles born singer, rapper and producer first gained attention in 2018 with her novelty pop hit MOOO!, rapping ‘b***h I’m a cow, I’m not a cat, I don’t say meow’. This potent cocktail of irony, slight eccentricity and refusal to take herself too seriously that would follow her – and bolster her – throughout her career.
But it was pop albums Hot Pink and Planet Her that brought her commercial pop domination, spawning wildly popular tracks which practically formed the soundtrack to the internet generation during the pandemic and beyond.
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But it was precisely this pop domination that she would come to reject in hindsight. “Hot Pink and Planet Her were cash grabs and y’all fell for it,” she tweeted in May 2023. “Now I can go disappear…while y’all weep for mediocre pop.”
Her next album Scarlet was certainly a departure from her previously hyper-feminine image, instead leaning into rap, whose lyrics showed her grappling with her public persona; and whose imagery was markedly edgier and darker.
So perhaps that’s why the Vie album came as something of a surprise. Last year’s release showed Doja switching things up again, this time to all-out 80s synthpop bangers and ballads, with beautifully-costumed music videos showing the singer looking far less terrifying – in fact straight out of a Covergirl ad.
The accompanying Ma Vie tour has taken her literally all around the world on a mammoth string of dates spanning an entire year. When the star appears at 8:30pm at Co-Op Live, 50 feet above the stage in enormous pointy shoulder pads and a floor-length cape, it’s clear the scale – and the stakes – will be big from the start.
She kicks things off with an acapella rendition of Lipstain, which morphs into La Vie en Rose as she swoops dramatically down to the floor. Red lasers and smoke pulse across the stage over a swirling saxophone solo, heralding the start of the show in earnest as the star struts her way onto a raised stage to perform Cards, accompanied by backing singers and an excellent live band, all clad in shining silver.
She’s been pictured in some eye-popping outfits this tour, and tonight is no exception: blue and yellow spotted tights under a red body suit, shoulder-height blue and brown spotted gloves and a pink feather tail, that we see moving – a lot – throughout the night.
It’s high camp, pantomime-dame-esque, as is the makeup: bright blue lipstick, white eyelids studded with amber gems and, most unusual of all, a set of dentures making her teeth red and bloody.
We start with her bread and butter, pop/rap: Gorgeous, Acts of Service, Couple’s Therapy, All Mine. She flips between impressively dextrous rapping and crooning vocals, riff after delicate riff proving to us all that the mic is on, one moment sultry and vulnerable, the next moment a formidable, magnetic seductress.
There’s little let-up either, in a tightly-packed two-hour show. This woman truly has a stacked roster of anthems that get the packed arena up dancing and shouting along, especially her most viral hits like Boss B***h, Agora Hills, Woman, and Paint the Town Red, these last anthemic raps which ring around the stadium as the crowd screams back every word.
Just a few teasing seconds of Juicy and its shimmering, electronic beat draws rapturous screams from the crowd. Need to Know, a pulsating trap number breathless with sexual tension and desire, is a barnstorming highlight featuring blistering guitar solos as Doja writhes at centre stage.
Then we move on to Streets, another sultry track which she croons to her lover in dramatic silhouette against a bright red background, ending with her lying on the stage as flames and smoke surround her. But then straight away we’re into some of her most aggressive numbers, in an electric and eye-popping set.
Throughout Wet V****a, WYM Freestyle, Demons and Tia Tamera, whose beats are truly menacing, you can scarcely tear your eyes away as she becomes increasingly fervid and wild. Lasers and flares crackle and pop as she drops into splits and acrobatics, crawling and writhing around the stage as if possessed, at points biting the mic stand, singing upside down, pulling macabre faces, swinging the wire around her neck.
It’s raw physicality, using her body not just as an object but as an instrument, an art form. There are moments when she genuinely looks quite frightening.
Then before you know it, we’re back to pop, Doja sitting demurely on the edge of the stage singing heartfelt, hopeful ballads like that interlude ever happened. It’s genuinely refreshing, this flip from vulnerable sensuality into bombast, and also pretty rare, in my opinion, to see a female artist willing to get this naked, raw and messy.
Proceedings draw to an ecstatic close with bulletproof pop hits Say So and Jealous Type, whose blaring synths and soaring crescendo just can’t help but bring the house down. Confetti rains from above, and a bouquet of red roses appears from somewhere, Doja casting them aloft one by one into an adoring crowd.
Suffice it to say, I entered the arena a casual enjoyer of her music and left a card-carrying fan. This is a true artist, a true performer, completely at home on stage and seeming to revel and gain energy in every moment the camera is on her.
I might get pelters here, but with her charisma and sheer versatility, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Madonna, or David Bowie. Admittedly before my time, these were artists who truly seemed to reinvent themselves with every album, and who were constantly trying to push at and test the boundaries of what we’re comfortable with.
So many female artists today – and I don’t blame them one bit for this – maintain a vice-like grip over their image. With social media, it only takes one unflattering photo to fly around the world in seconds and be held over their heads in perpetuity.
So here is a performer who is not afraid to get a little ugly. She seems not to be constrained, as so many women are, by pressure to look palatable and perfect all the time, and she is all the more raw, mesmerising and inspiring for it.
No, the blue lipstick and bloody teeth don’t look pretty, but who cares? Doja Cat has bigger things to worry about – and so should we all.




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