Last night, the 38-year-old R&B oddity known as Erykah Badu performed on the 225-year-old New York oddity known as Governors Island. Both the artist (herself an island) and the island (itself art) brought to the show singular quirks and diva auras. The performer wore a top hat, the venue sand.

The city still seems to be figuring out what to do with Governors Island, the former Army and Coast Guard post that falls within spitting distance of lower Manhattan but maintains a surreal, bucolic calm. It is only recently that the island began hosting larger concerts, on a large tract facing New York’s greed district. Arriving to the show late—after Janelle Monáe finished her set but before Badu started hers—presented a dreamlike quality, the Water Taxi dotted with just a few stray laggards. Traveling to a concert there, particularly after sundown, gives the sense of being privy to a cool secret.

Badu has been a star for more than a decade, but she maintains a certain mystery and whimsy. Her performance last night was sleepy and at times annoying: A soul diva has no business fiddling around with electronic percussion or other such onstage tinkering, which dwarfs her presence. And while the singer’s stage mysticism can seem freaky when she finds a groove, it also can wilt into posturing if she seems the least bit unprepared or cautious. Yet in a sense, Badu was working the room. Her loose set, with its slack jams and snippets of covers (N.W.A!), made a mellow backdrop for a tranquil beach party on this strange, isolated island—staring down the lights of Manhattan in a funky daze.