In a world of flash-in-the-pan acts and pop music saturation, it’s a joy to discover Sabrina Chap, a deeply talented musician who’s well grounded in songwriting and grand performanceship . When her songwriting career collided with a discovery of ragtime years ago, it launched her in a new direction, creating jazzy-heavy tunes with vintage, hearty vocals. Clever lyrics and a penchant for cabaret only amped up the appeal. And as if queering up ragtime wasn’t enough, she’s also the editor/curator of the acclaimed collection Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction, an anthology that collects the writings and art of Eileen Myles, Kate Bornstein, Nan Goldin, and more. Gearing up for the release of her new album, ‘Oompa!’ Sabrina recently hit the road to create a one-woman three-ring circus–singing, modeling as a nude artist, performing burlesque, and giving talks on Live Through This. Wildly articulate, witty and passionate, Sabrina Chap is an artist to look out for.
Courtney Gillette: How was your tour?
Sabrina Chap: A-mazing. Really. I thought I was an idiot booking a tour through the East Coast in February—which still was probably not the brightest idea, but I just got back and I’m still sort of in shock from the incredible response I received. I’ve played in a burlesque show only a few times before, and wasn’t sure how people at the Cheeky Monkey Sideshow or Dutch Oven Burlesque would like me. I mean, they’ve got people walking on glass and driving nails up their nose—or extremely sexy ladies taking off their clothes in hilarious sketches—so I was pretty nervous about holding my own. Luckily, I just put on some fishnets and a halter top and sang my dirtiest and bawdiest songs. After I came off stage, one of the burlesque ladies turned to me and said, “This is your home”, which made me feel great.
The lectures on the book also went incredibly well. It was a bit hard to make the switch from coming home at four in the morning, to getting on a train the next day, dusting the glitter off and immediately lecturing about women, art and self-destruction. It was a bit hard to switch hats like that, but talking on this subject is always good because the audience is almost always one that has a real vested and personal interest in the topic.
CG: Does burlesque play a role in your music?
SC: Sometimes. It’s weird. I wrote the song ‘Idiom’ years ago and just got really entranced with the whole ragtime feel. It’s impossible to be sad when you’re playing ragtime because you’re forced to dance. Your left hand is doing the basic “oom-pa oom-pa” back and forth, and your right hand syncopates. It’s just fun to play. So once I got entranced with ragtime, I started writing in that style. But a lot of my stuff is super tongue-in-cheek (or tongue-in-somewhere-else…) and it’s a fun way to be witty and sexy and put on a character at the same time. The burlesque songs sort of write themselves. ‘Never Been a Bad Girl’ just spilled out. The entire album is a mix of Americana styles. I’ve got a bluegrass tune, a Dixieland tune, and your basic heartbroken ballads. I also just bought an electric guitar and want to do a PJ Harvey-ish collection of songs. All my songs beforehand are folk songs, and I come from a classical background. This burlesque gig just fits right now.
CG: You seem to have many different creative outlets. How do you juggle being such a jack of all trades?
SC: I don’t. I’m a mess. In fact, I’m crying right now.
Just kidding. About the crying. Not about the fact that I’m a mess and am not good at juggling all my artistic endeavors. I’ve done a million things in the past. Toured as a spoken word artist, put up plays, edited collections of interviews with women writers ( for my zine, ‘Cliterature’). My signature move is to focus on a project with intense abandon until it’s done and I have some sort of awesome breakdown. Usually it lasts about six months and I don’t want to talk to anyone and I sit in my room and watch episodes of Top Chef. And then I’m like, “I should put out a book,” and I put Top Chef on pause and I’m up and going again.
I’m really excited about ‘Oompa!’ because as soon as I was done [making the album], I was already planning how to do the next one. That never happened before. After I edited the book, I turned to all of my friends and said, “Don’t ever let me do that again. If I say I’m going to edit a book again, hit me in the face with a fish.” I was just exhausted. But putting this album out is the first time I’ve been energized by a project. Hopefully I’ll just learn to start saying no to the projects that exhaust me, and yes to the ones that make me energized and excited.
CG: Is there a queer sensibility to your music/your performances? How would you describe it?
SC: Well, all of the songs off the album are about ex’s, which have been women, so in that sense, yes, there is a queer sensibility there. Although it sort of surprised me that some people haven’t gotten that [my songs are queer.]. I play with one particular band quite a bit—they open up for me and I open up for them. The main singer knows I’m queer, and finally he was like, “But you don’t say that in your songs”.
Now, there are songs where I straight up am talking about a woman— I mean, I couldn’t get more specific in ‘Idiom’. But then there are songs like ‘Little White House,’ where I have the lyric:
‘A kid on the way
due sometime in May
we’ll dance in the kitchen while the radio plays
You’ll bring home the bacon
I’ll try a new recipe
In our little white house with a key’
I was like, “Oh. . .I guess I could see why you were confused. . .but I was still talking about a girl there. I just like butch girls. And I like to cook.” He was like, “Oh.”
I was surprised he even had to ask. I spend so much time in the queer scene, but often forget that people are still confused by me. I have long hair. I have big boobs. Sometimes I wear a tie, and sometimes I assume a more gender neutral stance in my songs. But sometimes I write straight up femme-y songs. I just have all of these sides to me, and they all seem pretty natural to me. I know I’m supposed to make some grand public statement about all this, but the fact is, I just want to keep on singing, and I get my greatest strength from the queer community.
CG: Best experience you’ve ever had performing?
SC: Geez. That’s a hard one.
This tour was specifically amazing. The burlesque nights were bawdy and rowdy as hell, and there is something just fantabulous about getting a massively packed room silent and expectant and just. . .listening. I love that. I love when sweaty, excited people just get silent and are really listening to your lyrics. There are some moments performing where I can just feel it—the room sort of crystallizes, and I know that the slightest word or movement is going to affect the entire mood of the room. Something else great this tour was when I was singing for Dr. Sketchy’s and some people were trying to draw me, but had to stop because they were laughing so hard. That made me super happy.
It’s really hard to boil it down to one best experience. I’m just always having the time of my life up there, and whenever I feel that someone’s truly listening, or I’m truly connecting with them—that’s the best. I’ve had funny shit happen, incredible moments, and really terrible moments—all of which I hold equally dear in my memory—but it’s those simple moments of someone listening that are what make me smile the most.
You can catch Sabrina Chap live this March at various venues in New York and New Jersey. For more info and other tour dates visit SabrinaChap.com
DUMBO, Brooklyn has never been a neighborhood known for its parties, let alone its gay scene. Ben Harvey, though, is out to change that. The industrial waterfront, straddled by the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges (hence the acronym, Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) is synonymous with art galleries, boutique stores and restaurants, and industrial loft spaces. Last August, Harvey and friends Matthew Kelleher and Andrew Urankar threw the first GUMBO–a free (yes, kids, you read that correctly) gay dance party happening in the dramatic Galapagos Art Space in Dumbo. Happening once a month on Thursdays (and sometimes coinciding with the First Thursdays that draw the art gallery crowd to the neighborhood), GUMBO (Gay Dumbo Party) is looking to draw a crowd from both sides of the bridge, and succeeding.
“Since Dumbo is probably one of the least gay places I know of in Brooklyn, it was a nice surprise to see the huge turnout at the first GUMBO,” says Harvey. Since then, GUMBO has happened twice more, growing every time. Soon after the First Thursday gallery crawl ended last November, Galapagos (itself a staple of Brooklyn nightlife) had filled up with a smattering of gay boys and their friends, enjoying drinks and conversation at the modern tables swirled around a shallow indoor pond. Above, on the second landing, DJ Josh Sparber spun an inviting mix of current indie pop, a foreshadowing of the dancing that would happen much later when the party got packed. Not long after doors opened, a woman with a dark pixie haircut (Galapagos resident stylist Lynsey) brought out her scissors and set up shop in a corner of the bar, giving free haircuts to the queue of people that quickly lined up. This eclectic recipe for a gay party seems to be hitting the spot.
Harvey, a DUMBO resident, hopes the party creates space for the small yet present gay scene of the neighborhood. “Dumbo is a funny place because it’s a very artsy place during the day, with graphic design firms and such, but at night and on weekends it’s very yuppie-ish, and becoming sort of like Park Slope,” says Ben. “[GUMBO's] goal is to keep the gays who work here a little longer (hence happy hour), and then bring in other Brooklynites and Manhattanites, since it’s right over the bridge. And then, of course, I guess there are the handful of gays like myself who actually live here. So far so good!” The crowd certainly lives up the diversity Harvey describes. “It’s a total mix of Brooklyn hipsters, curious Manhattanite professionals, local Dumbo gays, and quite a few straights!” he says. “Like most gay parties in New York it’s been predominantly guys, but I’m really happy that more and more girls have been coming. I’ve had a lot of people say it was their first visit to Dumbo – and people seem blown away by how cool a neighborhood it is.”
Even better, Dumbo is a neighborhood that’s been vocal in its support of GUMBO. GUMBO has held raffles for projects like the Brooklyn Pride Center, and also raised money and awareness for the Harvey Milk School. Harvey cites the community of Dumbo as influence for the party doubling as a benefit venue. Of organizing the raffle that happened in November, he says, “It was a great chance to get a lot of local businesses involved–everyone from Equinox to Jonathan Adler to BoConcept to local restaurants and coffee shops [donated prizes]. I was surprised that even Gleason’s Boxing Gym wanted to be involved, seeing as it’s such a hyper masculine straight guy hang out, but I guess it shows how inclusive Dumbo really is as a neighborhood.”
Fliers for the most recent party included the tag line There’s No Place Like GUMBO. With a supportive local community, easy access from both sides of the East River, and a plethora of rad art gallery openings to pair with a night out on the town, who could argue? Ben hopes that the success of GUMBO is only the beginning. “Now only if more gays would move out here I think we’ll be on our way to Dumbo becoming the next emerging gayborhood… watch all the Chelsea boys move on out here!” Even if it doesn’t inspire a mass migration, GUMBO remains a party worth clicking your ruby slippers three times for.
The next GUMBO party will be happening Thursday, January 14th at
Galapagos Art Space (16 Main St. at Water St.), from 8PM to 1AM. Free
Admission. Wanna get there in style? Enter to win a ride to GUMBO in a
chauffeured BMW for you and your friends, courtesy of Get Gay
Travel.E-mail gumbonyc@gmail.com to enter for this and other prizes.
On a Saturday night this September, in the usually quiet Gowanus area of Brooklyn, Degraw Street was crowded with queers. Lil Mama’s “Lipgloss” boomed from the front of new venue Littlefield, and the line to get in to the bar trailed down the block. It was just past midnight, and the party was already over capacity. Everybody had come out to celebrate That’s My Jam.
For their one year anniversary, the queer party jumped from their home at Sputnik bar in Bed Stuy to this larger venue near Park Slope. Inside, queers in the most broad and awesome use of the word–dykes, gay boys, drag queens, trannies, and a smattering of straight (or at least straight looking, if such a thing even exists anymore)–were all chatting, drinking, and dancing. DJ Tikka Masala shared the turntables with DJ Sirlinda, and the fierce songs kept everyone moving and sweating. In between performances by Yalini Dream and Shedick (a trio of drag queens that elicited shouts of To Wong Foo! from the audience), Trent Brooks, who started the party with Tikka, gave fond thank yous, and shared a little bit of TMJ (as it’s affectionately known) history.
“Vic Black from Sputnik approached me during a benefit I was DJ-ing there,” says Tikka on how That’s My Jam came about. “He’s a really influential figure in the local underground Hip Hop scene, so his interest made me wonder if I might have something. I had been thinking about starting a party, and Sputnik’s sound system is really fun. I asked Trent to partner up with me on this project because we worked nightlife together, lived together (across the street from the bar, a year prior to starting the party), and knew each other well enough to know we could get through difficult situations together without unproductive friction. We’re great business partners because we’re great friends.”
The party hit big when it was covered in Time Out New York in 2008 as the new best queer party around. Off the beaten track of regular party neighborhoods like Williamsburg, That’s My Jams’ Bed-Stuy location catered to a diverse crowd of party loving queers. Photos in that particular Time Out New York spread showed a dance floor nothing like segregated gay and lesbian parties could have ever dreamed of.
Tikka and Trent also have made a great effort to promote That’s My Jam as mixed-queer and all-inclusive. “I haven’t been to every single LGBT party around town, but I can tell you for sure that we do specifically put effort into making sure that people feel included, whoever they are, and wherever they are at in their lives,” Tikka explains. “Our programming and staff reflect the musical interests and cultural backgrounds of the folks we want to see on the dance floor (as many different kinds of folks as possible), and we think people respond to that effort and idea by participating with us regularly. We make sure not to intentionally or unintentionally alienate anyone in our messaging.”
For anyone who’s ever cringed at the divided listings of lesbian bars and gay boy clubs, the idea of an all inclusive mixed party is a breath of fresh air. Building on what people have found at mixed bars like Metropolitan in Williamsburg, parties like That’s My Jam, the short lived Secret Faggot, and newer parties Rumours and Gay Face are finally giving queers of all stripes something awesome to do on the weekends. “Folks are throwing more parties in general and really taking it upon themselves to create their own scenes,” says Tikka. “It seems like people want some diversity on all fronts, gender, class, orientation, etc. so we just did our best to make it cool for everyone by trying our best to represent everyone and invite as many people as possible. I think TMJ encourages people to start their own thing, in their own way.”
One new party, Rumours, was born of Marisa Suarez-Orozco aka DJ Marimacha and DJ Tanner aka Jenna Weiss-Berman’s desire for a more varied mix of party music. “We were sick of going out and hearing the same Top 40’s jams over and over,” says Marisa. “Jenna and I shared a passion for post-punk, new wave and disco–which is also great dance music–and wanted a venue to be able to hear what we loved. She was already a DJ and I had wanted to get into it, so we decided to collaborate and put something together.”
The name Rumours – one part Fleetwood Mac, and one part “small town gay bar” – quickly came to have its own attractive image. “I’m a graphic designer, and wanted to put an effort in to branding our party to give it a specific look and feel. I fell in love with the artist Patrick Nagel’s illustrations, because they were so 80’s and portrayed strong sexy women and felt very queer, and they also said ‘Party.’ I collaborated with another designer, Cherlyn Russo, and designed fliers, posters and found a venue and started a party.” Happening now in the Annex above Public Assembly, Rumours boasts a queer crowd as eclectic as its music, making for yet another rad party for queers of all kinds to dance into the wee hours of the morning.
Tikka Masala maintains that music, at the heart of That’s My Jam, is part of what makes their party so inclusive. “It’s important to have labels and safe spaces,” she notes, “but when it’s time to dance I think this party really does bring people together for the music. Trent and I wanted a non identity branded party so we based it around the music (Hence That’s My Jam), and now all kinds of people are responding to it and things feel inclusive.” And the benefits of throwing a queer dance party? “Seeing hundreds of sexy sweaty queers jumping to the music is alright with me,” she says. “Making a killer party happen with some dear friends is pretty rewarding.”
Next on the party horizon: Tikka Masala and Sputnik bar are collaborating on a weeknight venture called Wednezgays. “I’m hoping it will be a cool place for people in the neighborhood to hang out on Wednesday nights, as well as being a spot where newer DJ’s can get some practice,” Tikka explains. “It will be more laid back than TMJ, but I’m hoping it will create some local connections for people.”
With the boundless talent and energy of the queer community right now, one can expect and hope to see all of these parties celebrate many more anniversaries to come.
Courtney Gillette is a writer, educator, illustrator, and lover of
milkshakes. Her writing has appeared in various anthologies, lit mags,
and web zines, including gomag.com, Too Shy To Stop, Tom Tom Magazine,
Bitch, No, Dear, and the Lambda award winning anthology The Full Spectrum. Recently she became a Literary Death Match Champion. Her most favorite thing in the world is rock camp for girls. She lives in Brooklyn, and rides a sweet blue bicycle. You can find her at http://courtneygillette.wordpress.com.
When Mal Blum shows up at my apartment for this interview, she’s carrying her ukulele. Although a singer-songwriter and guitarist at heart, she’s probably most recognizable when accompanied by this alternative little instrument. Her ukulele love song, “Ode To Kulele,” has been on heavy rotation on Logo’s The Click List, a collection of music videos by up and coming queer artists. Young and talented–she turned twenty one this summer while recording her third album–Mal Blum already has accomplished much in her early career. She’s played colleges, festivals, and opened for the likes of Kimya Dawson, Amanda Palmer, and other rad folks. Her blend of folk and pop music provides a unique and quirky sound, with catchy songs that demonstrate wit, humor, and heart. This fall, she’s gearing up to join folksinger Melissa Ferrick as the opening act on Ferrick’s Southern tour, and for the occasion has just finished For Making Art, an EP of new and live tracks. Before hitting the road, Mal took time to chat with The Queerist about what it’s like to be a musician in college, the conundrum of queer branding, rock camp for girls, and five things she can’t go on tour without.
The Queerist: So we met this summer as volunteers at Willie Mae Rock n Roll Camp for Girls, which is a rock camp in Brooklyn where girls ages 8 through 18 learn to play an instrument, form a band, write an original song, and then they perform. How did you like volunteering for Willie Mae?
Mal Blum: I loved rock camp more than anything in my whole life. (laughs) I really, really enjoyed it, and I really enjoyed my position as a band coach. I thought it was a really great volunteer experience, in addition to all the other awesome things I thought about it.
TQ: Did you have encouragement to play music when you were growing up?
MB: I didn’t really start playing music until I was like fourteen. I was encouraged to take piano lessons when I was really young. And I played the trumpet when I was in fourth grade. But the way that I picked up the guitar, which is my primary instrument, is that my father bought one for himself but developed back problems and didn’t use it, so I kind of got his guitar by proxy. Once I developed an interest in music it was certainly encouraged and supported by my family, but I think it was self guided. I don’t think they would’ve like pushed me in that direction.
TQ: As a volunteer at rock camp, you’re kind of both mentoring girls and teaching girls music. Is that something you’re interested in doing, teaching music?
MB: Oh, absolutely. I come from a family of educators. Both of my parents were teachers. I would absolutely love to teach. I kind of wanted to see this summer if I liked working with kids, and I do, so I would absolutely consider teaching. I’m not sure if I would want to teach music, though, because I don’t know how much you can really teach music, the kind of music that I play. I think that it’s very subjective and personal. You can teach theory and you can teach the tools by which somebody can make music. I go to school for music, and in my experiences I just don’t think that you can teach somebody, y’know–here’s the framework, here’s how you write a good pop song. Go to it.
TQ: Well, to play devil’s advocate, at rock camp the girls were given the tools to write original songs this summer, and they totally did.
MB: They do it. But they do it themselves.
TQ: Right. You can’t teach talent, but you can teach craft.
MB: Right. You can teach craft. You can teach discipline. I would love to teach young kids those tools and how to empower themselves to use those tools. Like, rock camp is very hands off for a reason. You can’t sit down and close write a song with some kids. It’s not as satisfying, for the person making the art, I would imagine.
TQ: Right, if you were more hands on, if it were more direct, it would be different.
MB: Right. But I love rock camp, I think it’s fantastic. Watching the girls throughout the week and their transformation–in that short period of time, it’s really fascinating what a sense of community they have. Also, I think that rock camp is one of the few functionally diverse-in-every sense-of-the-word spaces. I think a lot of spaces really attempt to encourage a lot of diversity. With rock camp, it’s so many different types of people, like people from every borough, people from all different socio-economic backgrounds and cultures, levels of talent and everything. I think it comes together in a really beautiful and functional way.
TQ: I know a lot of volunteers at rock camp are really floored by the amount of strong, female musicians that comprise most of our volunteer base. Were you struck by finding that kind of community among the volunteers, or by being around so many like minded musicians?
MB: Absolutely. I think so often, because it’s an industry, the music industry, and because female-bodied and female identified musicians, and queer-bodied musicians, and queer musicians, are such a small part of that industry–unfortunately it doesn’t breed that sense of community or solidarity that you would think it would. I think more so it breeds competition among us. It was really refreshing to come to rock camp and see that everybody there is extremely talented, dedicated, like minded, and also supportive of each other. It was a really good experience for me.
TQ: I assume also the community of musicians at rock camp would be a lot different than the community of musicians at SUNY Purchase, where you go to school for music. What is that community like?
MB: Well, the way that Purchase is split up is that the Arts are in conservatories. I’m in a music conservatory, so unfortunately, in my experience, [the conservatory] is almost like a microcosm of the music industry. So think about the small number of queer people in the music industry being competitive, and then think about this small group of applicants and put them in this music conservatory, and I mean, it’s even more competitive, I would say. Purchase is wonderful, and has had some really awesome musicians come out of it. I’ve seen some really awesome bands that actually have found community within it. For myself, all the people that I play with are Purchase musicians, every [sound] engineer I work with comes out of Purchase. If you went to Purchase, my heart is yours, y’know? (laughs) But I think it is hard to find community because it is so emphasized when you’re in that setting to be really focused on the self–getting ahead and being successful. So I think you have to put that aside and seek out community in those situations in order to make one.
TQ: So, for anyone that doesn’t know, you have two albums. One, the Mal Blum Album–
MB: Hmm… (laughs)
TQ: How old were you when you made that album?
MB: Well, the tracks on there–it’s a range, because some of them are from when I was fifteen, and some of them are up until age seventeen, when I stopped recording [the album]. Then I put it out my freshman year of college, when I was eighteen.
TQ: And then you’re second album is Goodnight, Sugarpop.
MB: Yeah. I put that one out last May [2008].
TQ: Tell us about your new album.
MB: My third album is taking soooo long to finish (laughs). But I’m so excited about it. It’s a lot more orchestrated, I think. It’s sort of more of a band set up. Which is cool, because I usually play with my friend Simon [Little-John], and we usually do a duo set up, where I’ll play guitar and sing, and he’ll play harmonica and piano. He just started playing banjo as well, and we have an upright bass player [Clay Wilson] sometimes that we play with, and also, another rock camp volunteer Sarah [Solomon] playing violin. So we went into a studio in Brooklyn this summer and recorded with that set up. We had a really fun session, and it just sounds a lot more organic, and a little bit fuller. I feel like it’s a little more mature and heartfelt than the last album. Which, y’know, I think the last album was good. But I think this album is going to be even better.
TQ: So this October you are going on tour with Melissa Ferrick, as her opening act. What’re you hoping for that experience to be like?
MB: I am hoping to eat some Paula Deen’s butterballs and grits–
TQ: You’re going down south.
MB: (laughs) Yeah, the tour is down south. So, I’m going to meet Paula Deen and eat some butterballs and grits. I’ve never been to North Carolina, or Tennessee before, so I’m really excited to do that. I’m hoping that my car doesn’t break down (laughs). I’m excited to open for Melissa Ferrick because I’ve opened for her once before, and her fan base is really fun. Not as crazy as Amanda Palmer’s [fan base]. (laughs) I think it’s going to be a really rewarding experience. Although I am taking the week off school, so when I come back I’m going to be slammed with midterms (laughs) and things like that.
TQ: Is it hard to be a musician while you’re also in college?
MB: Not if you’re taking music classes in the music conservatory, because they allow you to take time to gig. But, if you’re in Liberal Arts classes at the school that I go to, it’s a little bit tough. I think most Professors are understanding, because they’re used to having slackers in class who don’t wanna come because, y’know, they’re hungover or it’s raining out. So if you’re like, hey, I have these two dates in October that I won’t be here, but I’ll be here every other class and do like a project to make up for it, most of them understand.
TQ: So your music has it’s own queer sensibility–I tend to notice it in your lyrics, like, some of your songs talk about dating girls, or in the song Dysmorphic some of the lines are from transcripts of interviews with trans guys who have undergone top surgery, right?
MB: Yeah.
TQ: The things that are obviously queer about your music–is that something you think comes organically, or something that you make a conscious effort to do?
MB: I think that my music is very much so an adaptation from my life experiences, so I think it something that happens organically. And I think that the effort to be outspoken for most queer artists is probably the same process, like you write about your life, which happens to have queer undertones in it. But I think that the effort to not censor that, or to be outspoken about that, and to let that happen organically and embrace that process, I think that’s a conscious effort.
TQ: How did the song Dysmorphic come about?
MB: Dysmorphic is about a couple different things that were going on at that time of my life. My friend Simon and I were living together at the time, and we were actually co-writing that song, which is an unusual process, because we don’t usually co-write. We usually do our separate things and then put them together. But we were reading top surgery testimonials and some of the lines got in there, and made it into lines of the song. It was sort of a culmination: my one friend was dealing with this body image issue that was pretty severe, and another friend was dealing with this father problem, and then myself dealing with other things, y’know. It’s a loaded song. It’s a heavy song. I still enjoy playing it from time to time. I wanna add a piano part to it. I think that would sound really nice.
TQ: Another part of being a queer artist is that you can sometimes get labeled as a queer artist, which has its pros and cons. Pros, like queer visibility, which is always great in the arts. But then there can be backlash, such as some queer artists feeling pigeon-holed or limited because of what they’re labeled as. Have you had any experiences around this?
MB: I could talk about queer branding for hours. (laughs) I would love to write a book all about queer branding. I do have some strong opinions about it. The pros are visibility, exposure, bringing your art to more people who might like you, which, every artist wants that, y’know? But if you think about it, conceptually, it can be offensive and insulting. Because the way that came about is historically, queer people in the music industry were dismissed, and I think their work to some extent today is still invalidated, to some degree. But there’s this whole thing called the queer market, and this whole demographic of people, of consumers, that will buy this music. Once the music industry realized they could make money off of queer artists, then they started to cater to that, and I think it’s exploitative, inherently. So it just feels wrong. (laughs) I don’t know, because it’s intertwined, y’know, it’s an industry, it’s capitalist. They’re gonna see things that make money as more legitimate. But it feels very insulting to me that that is the way by which our art and our work is legitimized–like, we can make money off you now, so now we’ll pay attention to you.
TQ: And it’s a catch 22, because on the one hand, it’s great to have queer artists have the means to find an audience–
MB: Yes.
TQ: But on the flip side, queer artists are then promoted solely because it’s profitable, like you’re saying.
MB: And also, I think it’s important because there is this need for queer visibility and representation. People want to see themselves in the art that they support. Because there is such a desire in this community, I think it’s so imperative now more than ever that our representation is in our own hands. And I think that is something that can be lost if you are being represented by, say, a major label or promoter, or company. But maybe not always–
TQ: There are some artists who can do it well.
MB: Right. Absolutely. It’s a line you have to walk, and I think it’s a line that a lot of other people have had to walk, in this industry in particular, but not everybody.
TQ: Who are some artists that you think are balancing it well? Like, who are some artists who you kind of aspire to be, in terms of a queer artist who is out but not comprised?
MB: And very mainstream?
TQ: Well, if that’s your goal… MB: (laughs) Now we’re talking about career goals? Let’s see. I would say The Gossip is doing very well, and they were on KRS [Kill Rock Stars]. Kill Rock Stars is not a major label, it’s amazing. But then The Gossip moved on to other things, and now they are on a major label.
TQ: But they remain an out and queer band.
MB: Out and queer and very progressive, I think. Here’s the thing, though, is that they are on Sony’s queer affiliate label, Music With a Twist. So I don’t know about all that. (laughs) It just seems like Sony made an affiliate label because now they can make money off of queer artists. And the name–”Music with a Twist”–what’s the twist? It’s music! Y’know?
TQ: That’s what I hear so many queer artists rallying against is, it’s like, sure, I’ll be a queer artist, but you also have to realize, I’m an artist. My art is as validate as anything I’m gonna make, whether or not I’m queer.
MB: Also, just because you’re queer and radical in your politics–that’s not a “twist.” That shouldn’t be a “twist” to music. That should be something that can cooperate with being a musician, not music with an accessory. But, y’know, The Gossip is reaching a lot of more people now. And I’m sure, maybe, a lot of cool, like minded queer people work at that label, and work for Sony, so it’s not really like “they.” It’s not like, people are meeting in a room and saying “We’re going to exploit all the queer artists,” y’know? You can’t put the blame on anybody. It’s just the way that the industry functions right now, so all you can do as an individual and as an artist is decide how you want to represent yourself. Because what you can do, really?
TQ: It’s kind of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
MB: Right. And I think what you said about artists being pigeon holed is actually very interesting. Sometimes I think it’s very easy to cater to a queer market, but then if an artist wants to break out of that, it’s difficult sometimes. And then if you abandon that market–it’s very difficult, because people are so hungry for representations of themselves. So if I love a queer artist, and they do something that is, in my mind, being a “bad” queer, or representing me in a bad fashion–because I’ve put so much of myself into it, there’s a lot more betrayal, I think. And I think people who are queer and listen to queer music–queer consumers of music–we can be very quick to police it, because you want your representations of yourself to be good, whatever you think a good queer is. So I think that’s very hard for a lot of artists. I call it Ani DiFranco syndrome (laughs).
TQ: What do you want to be doing in ten years with your music?
MB: I would like to say that I’ll still be making music, making albums. But it depends on where the industry goes. I mean, ten years ago, we didn’t even really know how to utilize the Internet, so it depends. For myself, I would still like to be playing music. I would like to be traveling. I would like to be teaching, in some capacity, and writing. That’s where I see myself in ten years. But who knows (laughs). I’m really looking forward to thirty because I feel like I’ll be more set in my ways. I hope the awkwardness wears off in between now and then (laughs).
TQ: What are five things you have to bring on tour with you?
MB: Simon. (laughs) My guitar. What else? I just want to say all the things I’ll actually need! Like my car. Clean socks. My phone, so I can Twitter. (laughs) And also my phone so I can call my Mom sometimes. But maybe not for this tour because it’s just a week (laughs). I’ll be bringing my GPS too! I guess that’s it.
TQ: Well, here’s to hoping you have a fabulous time on tour!
CourtneyGillette is a writer, educator, illustrator, and lover of
milkshakes. Her writing has appeared in various anthologies, lit mags,
and web zines, including gomag.com, Too Shy To Stop, Tom Tom Magazine,
Bitch, No, Dear, and the Lambda award winning anthology The Full
Spectrum. Recently she became a Literary Death Match Champion.
Her most favorite thing in the world is rock camp for girls. She lives in Brooklyn, and rides a sweet blue bicycle. You can find her at http://courtneygillette.wordpress.com.
