Imported

The set transitions into another live set housed within an ornate boudoir with gilded moulded and paneled walls splashed with murals of fresco paintings. A bare bones band is seen in the blurry periphery behind Alivia, who sits upon a stool with ginger orange dreadlocks captured in a top bun. Her makeup, paired with bohemian chic silks and vibrant hues of her barely there clothes, downplays her Asiatic origins to enhance her afro-Caribbean features.

Adjusting the hand-crafted acoustic guitar in her lap, Alivia begins to pick out a downbeat alt-R&B melody. The band behind her take their cues from her, giving depth and layer to the moody, chill atmosphere with hazy textures and a tortured bassline.

"Hi, my name is Juju .... And sometimes I go a little coo-coo," Alivia's voice is sweet as candy with her deceptively playful rhyme scheme, an artful strain of her vocal chords rendering her sound bittersweet. "But I don't mind 'cause I'm like no other. Are you tryin' to be my lover?"

"No need for the wine and dine. Go straight for the wind and grind," Unseen vocalists, with pitch-perfected harmony, gradually swell into low-end catharsis behind her dreamy flirtations. "I wanna cum, you can make me happy, fuck trying."

"Sometimes, I can be messy, you'll be my favorite secret." Kohl-lined blue eyes open to send a heated glance directly into the camera from beneath those impossibly long lashes. "I ain't ridin' if you're wit' her. Baby, you gon' have to ditch her..."

"I'm a good girl... On sundays," Her voice lowers to the softest hush, like she were disclosing the greatest of secrets in her tranquil composition. "Sometimes on Wednesdays. Really, it depends, but..."

"You, you belong to somebody else... Maybe I could offer some help," The songstress's lilting soprano carries introspective understanding in her whispered crooning of the chorus with vocalists tailing her in soft echo. "Free you from them by fuckin' on me. Cuidado, you might O.D., if you take too much of me...Don't you want to O.D. from a little taste of me...?"

The low-key production is propelled forward on the distant rumbling of techno percussion and off-kilter synth stabs.

A chocolate-skinned brother dressed casually in ultramodern urban wear with tightly curled hair tapered in a smooth fade pans into shot with a soft-focused transition, armed with a mic.

"Yo, fuck it, who I am is not important," His rich baritone is sinfully smooth, digitally altered just enough to compliment Alivia's soulful harmonizing. "Can't you tell? My voice distorted."

"You important, I'm important. Make a movie, then mass-export it." He looks aside at the superstar, his grin secretive. Covetious, biting his lip as he watches her grind and undulate. "Came up from a Cricket. Tryna fuck you in some Holdens, baby."