Meet the leader of the frog-hat-wearing queer cult | corook

Photographing corook's concert in STL last night.

Apr 04, 2025

corook makes it very clear that their song “snakes” off the 2022 EP “achoo!” is not a metaphor for people they do not like, it is literally just about snakes. Still, right before the final chorus filled with echoes of “I don’t fuck with snakes,” they invite the audience to imagine what it would mean if the song were about a human instead of a slithering reptile.

“Just for this last one,” they say, “imagine this is really about the bootlickin’ oligarchs in the White House.” The crowd erupts into a cathartic scream as they launch into the last, yet loudest, chorus yet.

corook, also known as Corinne Savage, is a 30-year-old nonbinary, middle child musician raised outside of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Their quirky, genre-defying pop music explores “gender identity, family tension, and queer love wrapped in a new elevated pop sound.”1 They studied songwriting and a contemporary writing and production at the Berklee College of Music in Boston and currently reside in Nashville, Tennessee.

corook has been making music and playing with bands, such as their college band luhx, since middle school when their mom convinced them to perform in the school talent show. But when corook’s career really started hitting widespread media was after a viral video of corook and their girlfriend, fellow musician and Berklee graduate Olivia Barton, posted a Tik Tok video singing a clip of what would later turn into “if i were a fish.” The lyrics go, “If I were a fish and you caught me / you’d say, ‘look at that fish’ / shimmerin’ in the sun / such a rare one / can’t believe that you caught one.”

The video reached one million views in just two hours. The same month, corook and Barton released the full “if i were a fish” song on April 21, 2023, through Atlantic Records. The virality brought with it a tidal wave of new fans all eager to dive into the sweet, strange world of corook.

“[I would describe myself as] Timbaland, meets musical theater, meets Sara Bareilles all tied in one,” corook says in a 2023 interview with Beyond the Stage.2

The momentum built, culminating in an impromptu singalong of the song in Washington Square Park where they expected a small turnout, but instead three hundred fans greeted them. Although it was nice to have the support of so many fans, the success of “if i were a fish” meant more to corook than just gaining a larger audience.

“‘if i were a fish’ was written when I was feeling out of place and like I didn’t fit in,” said corook in an interview with NPR. “I was getting a lot of hate comments online. And so, my girlfriend, Olivia Barton, wanted to do something to make me feel better. She was like, let's make something weird. Like, what's the weirdest thing that you can think of? And I said, well, if I were a fish, I think that all of the weird things about me would be cool. And she was like, that's weird. Let's do it.”

Soon thereafter, another video of corook went viral, blasting them back into the metaverse that is Tik Tok. The video shows corook performing their, then unreleased, song “they.” The video includes corook chanting the chorus to the song, “They/Them energy, They/Them energy!” with a crowd chanting back in response.

In an interview with Huff Post, corook said the song represents their origin story and conveys “the mix of nerves and joy that comes with sharing your new pronouns with the world.”3

Tik Tok users immediately took the sound, raised the BPM, and used it as a popular audio to accompany thousands of different videos. And while some were lighthearted, funny, and playing along with the song there were also a fair share of haters sharing their anti-LGBTQ+ agenda using the song and across corook’s social media platforms. The internet made corook ‘famous,’ but it also tried to erase them. Queerness is innately ingrained into every asked of corook’s music project and therefore unescapable for anyone who comes across their work.

corook explains, “I would say [queerness] is important that it’s embedded in most of my songs, but I also think it’s important that it’s casually embedded in most of my songs.”

This explains why corook, and their frog-hat-wearing cult follower, cheer and scream at the chance to call the Trump Administration a bunch of “bootlickin’ oligarchs.” With the new series of executive orders directly impacting transgender, nonbinary, and intersex people immediately signed upon entrance into the White House in January, the new administration is issuing direct threats to corook’s very existence. Trump banned trans athletes from women’s sports4, targeted ‘gender ideology’ in schools5, and required federal documents to reflect sex assigned at birth6, changing nonbinary and trans people’s passports. We live in a society where followers of the booklickin’ oligarchs think it is a bigger offense to deadname the Gulf of Mexico (America?) than a real person.

“In a time when our identities are under constant attack,” said corook, “especially with figures like Trump attempting to legislate us out of existence, this song feels more vital than ever.”

“We’re here. We’re queer. We’re not going anywhere. There is nothing they can do to erase transness. This is what I have worked for and fought for within my own self to be brave enough to do and I’m going to continue with that bravery.”

What does “they/them energy” even really mean, though? According to corook in St. Louis’s April 3 show at the Duck Room at Blueberry Hill, it means they are responsible for how well baristas make coffee. In more seriousness, “it’s literally just confidence. It’s self-acceptance and confidence no matter where you’re at in your life. My whole job is to get on stage and yell ‘they/them energy’ and shake my ass,” corook tells PRIDE.7

Both instances of mass virality, along with a career-long journey with social media, drove corook to write the song “joke’s on me” which appears on their latest album, “committed to a bit.”

The second verse says, “I’m an internet person / I’ve made my career your opinion of me / But is my internet working? / ‘Cause half of these comments are so fucking mean” and in the chorus, corook encourages concertgoers to scream “it’s not fucking funny” after they sing “if the joke’s on me.”

Despite the negative aspects of online fame fueled by anonymous users, corook maintains a passion for having fun and doing what they love.

“I think it takes a really long time for songwriters to find their voice,” they said. “And honestly, I think the second I realized that I was allowed to not be super serious was whenever I was like, okay, I got it.”

And while attending their concert, this point is evident as well. corook’s concerts are like microcosms of radical acceptance and joy, a stark contrast to the political climate that is increasingly hostile to queer lives. There is something quietly revolutionary about laughing, dancing, and shrieking “they/them energy!” in a packed room full of strangers. It is a protest disguised as a party. A party with well-timed dance breaks, kazoo solos, sound effects, frog hats, megaphones, and points where corook would shush the crowd just to whisper, “I have so much power right now.” Even the opener, Kel Cripe, was a Los Angeles-based comedian.

After the encore, when the venue lights finally turned on, concertgoers streamed out of the venue and into the bar where a large group of well-dressed college students paused to stare. It is not every day that you see a long parade of people all wearing green frog hats. But that is the kind of influence corook has: part concert, part community ritual.

“Playing shows is by far my favorite way to connect with my fans,” corook said. “I just think that it is so cool to be in a room full of people that all have something in common. Whether it be like the daddy issues or the queerness or the non-binary – there are just so many things I try to touch on.”