Celebrating Queer Performance & Community
Editor-In-Chief KIRA SHEA
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WERQ
Inclusive, celebratory, and queer af. We search the globe for the most innovative, authentic, sickening perfor-
mance art. And we bring together a community often defined by its differences. The truth is we have more in common than anyone thinks: we have complex stories, strong voices and above all, a message to share.
We all know the feeling: the need to suppress our queerness in the face of danger, or because of the desire to assimilate and be ‘normal,’ or to idea that tempering our expression may make us more ‘palatable’ to those around us. We cultivate these pages each month to create a space where we can be our queerest and most expressive selves. Inside these pages we celebrate the courage it takes to live our authentic lives. This month we bring you the Resist issue. We highlight performers who are pushing back on a world that is increasingly oppressive. These people are vibrant, diverse, and they bring us the future. They give us a glimpse into what our world could be. They unite us and inspire us to keep fighting. They are the fabulous champions of our generation. Get ready to fall in line. Resist!
esist n This Issue 6
Prepare to be Dominated
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Alaska is a Drag
LEX VOIGHT
SAMANTHA MANZELLA
9
Lesbian Barbie Dolls
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The Extremely Weird Feminism of Cherdonna’s Dollhouse
TRISH BENDIX
DARREN DAVIS
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Why More Queer Festivals are Thriving in 2017
JAKE HALL
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Taylor Alxndr’s ‘Nightwork’ Unveils the Darker Side of Drag
JUSTIN MORAN
20 The Radical Queerness of Kate McKinnon’s Justin Beiber SHAUNA MILLER
24 RuPaul vs. The Whitehouse SPENCER KORNHABER
32 Tunde Olaniran Wants You to be You and be Great KYLE KRAMER
38 Billie Jean King’s Battle of the Sexes Win was for Everyone TRACY E. GILCHRIST
42 Photo Essay: Femme in Public MAMBA
44 10 Transgender and Non-binary Artists You Need to Listen to 54 South Asian Drag Queens to Watch KAREEM KHUBCHANDANI
D E T A N I M O D E R PREPA TO BE
On Thunderpussy and the Birth of New Rock Gods • BY LEX VOIGHT •
Rolling Stones. Black Sabbath. Guns N Roses. Aerosmith. Motorhead. Anthrax. Slayer. Metallica. We music writers tend to throw around the term “rock gods” a lot. It has a way of conveying the larger-than-life, stranger-than-fiction personas of these modern legends. Their exploits approach myth, creating a new set of Western fables set against a back drop of a world at once our own and yet completely alien. A world of decadent excess populated by a cavalcade of parties, drugs, sold out stadiums, screaming or swooning fans, and above all—consummate, world-changing music. Whether you like them or not, these fables, these modern myths have shaped the world we
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live in in some explicit ways. Even the blueprint these bands laid out can still be seen at work, albeit increasingly adapted for the pop and hip hop worlds as rock n’ roll takes somewhat of a back seat in the popular consciousness. The blueprint, however, remains. Just waiting for someone to take it out, dust it off, and rebuild that kingdom in all its former glory— Thunderpussy may just be that band. With a name like “Thunderpussy,” one must imagine the swaggering confidence and self-awareness they must have in order to carry that banner. It’s practically a mission statement. Its loud. Its attention-grabbing. It’s somewhat self-effacing. It’s seductive. It’s bold. It is a legion
of other things—all conveyed simply by dint of moniker. It establishes a standard immediately that is backed up at every level following. Molly, Leah, Ruby, and Whitney of Thunderpussy looked at that blueprint codified by some of their childhood heroes like Steven Tyler of Aerosmith and said, essential, “why not us?” Out of that simple question has arose a supremely confident sound, performance, and philosophy that simultaneously pays homage to the rock gods of yore while stating that they are coming to conquer those golden halls. Were I any of the aforementioned music deities, I would be nervous because watching Thunderpussy perform is like witnessing the
birth of new gods. Their sound is loud—classic rock licks with a hair-metal flair, cut with bluesy singing, punk-based rhythms, and precise drumming, all while sporting styled costumes and an air of such bold confidence its intoxicating. There is something simply…vibrant, alive about watching and being around them. As if they are sliding into a plane of existence slightly to the side of our own. Each member’s movements on stage are as calculated and deliberate as their branding. Vocalist Molly utilizes her background in dance and performance to incredible effect. Each languid twist of arm, each fluid back bend and high step is perfectly deployed to maximum effect, captivating and seducing the audience as surely as it establishes an otherworldliness
to the proceedings. Whitey, guitar, meanwhile shreds behind a classic sneer, belying her confidence in her instrument and her art. Ruby, up in her own world behind the drums, is a foundation, her jazz training bleeding through with a largely concentrated performance occasionally punctuated by the odd yell. Leah, bass, employs a more hard-rock approach, her face often rocketing between ear-splitting smiles and yells that demand audience’s worship. And worship is what they get. Over the two and a half performances I saw them, concertgoers were wrapt. This is a kind of show that many of our generation haven’t been privy to despite so many of those old gods still tour— this is stadium rock n’ roll played in intimate quarters. This is what it was like when those rock
gods first got started, forging their legends in the backhalls of dirty rock clubs and on stages that weren’t the size of stadiums. With their name heralding their existence, Thunderpussy are riding lightning straight to the hallowed pantheon of rock. Do yourself a favor and get to know Thunderpussy before they conquer the world and make us all their loyal supplicants.
Alaska is a Drag The debut feature film from director Shaz Bennett about gender and sexuality in small town Alaska • BY SAMANTHA MANZELLA •
In her new film Alaska Is A Drag, writer-director Shaz Bennett transports viewers to the most unlikely of places: rural Alaska. Young protagonist Leo (Martin L. Washington Jr.) dreams of a glamorous life as he works his banal fish canning job. A lone LGBT youth in his hometown, Leo is a frequent victim of bashing and bullying by his former best friend, Kyle (Christopher O’Shea.) Leo learns to fight back with the help of a boxing trainer. Along the way, he makes new friends, gains new hobbies, and grapples with difficult decisions that force him to choose where his loyalties lie. Featuring bisexual comedienne Margaret Cho as supporting character and queer mentor figure Jan, Alaska Is A Drag offers a fresh look at queer survival in unfriendly environments. The film is Bennett’s first full-length feature—and an expansion upon a short film from Bennett of the same name. An experienced director and screenwriter, Bennett has worked on series like A&E’s The Glades and Amazon’s Bosch. Alaska Is A Drag was heavily inspired by Bennett’s experiences growing up queer in Salt Lake City, Utah, where she also worked in a fish cannery, the filmmaker wrote in a statement. “I think we all can relate to the daily struggles and feeling stuck,” Bennett says. “Leo is a fighter and I like to think I am, too.” Alaska Is A Drag premieres at URBANWORLD Film Festival on Saturday, September 23 at noon. For tickets, directions, and more information, visit URBANWORLD’s website: urbanworld.org.
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“Alaska Is A Drag offers a fresh look at queer survival in unfriendly environments.”
n a e i i b b s r Le Ba olls D
Betty Strachan-Otter uses her dolls to depict scenes containing positive affirmations to those who can relate to them. • BY TRISH BENDIX •
Betty Strachan-Otter became famous for her lifelike customized Barbies after her breastfeeding dolls went viral. Now, the Australian artist is encouraging her countrypeople to vote “Yes” on marriage equality with her latest creation: A two-mom Barbie doll family. “I like to use my dolls to depict scenes containing positive affirmations to those who can relate to them,” she tells The Daily Mail. “I’m saddened that there even needs to be a debate on same-sex marriage. Nobody worries about who you love when you’re in a committed straight relationship, so why should same-sex couples need to be treated any differently?” Based in Brisbane, Strachan-Otter got into her craft after she making a few for her two sons. She’s been so overwhelmed with custom orders, she’s not able to take new orders. (We should all have such problems.) Thankfully you can still buy her breastfeeding Barbie on Etsy, which she says she strives “to make them as diverse as I possibly can.”
Resist! December 2017 • 9
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• BY DARREN DAVIS •
I can’t stop thinking about Cherdonna’s Doll’s House. Which is strange because throughout the final production of Washington Ensemble Theatre’s season, I rarely had a clear understanding of what the creators (Ali Mohamed el-Gasseir and Jody Kuehner—aka Cherdonna Shinatra) intended the audience to do with the things they put on stage. And yet, after 90 minutes of purposefully awkward silences and bad lip syncing and fourth wall breaking and dance breaks and cascading cookies, it all coalesced into something
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frank and personal—an examination of a very bizarre persona and her very human creator that is surprisingly in line with the original text it set out to adapt. But, like, what is it exactly? Billed as an adaption of A Doll’s House— Henrik Ibsen’s influential 1879 play about a young woman’s break from a seemingly idyllic domestic life—the WET version does make a pass at performing the source material. There is a period-appropriate set. When the lights go down the room fills with orchestral music straight out of Masterpiece Theatre. But like the awkward double-possessive title, the host assumingly inserts herself into the production from the get go, appearing from just off the stage to pronounce, “This is my play!” A Seattle art scene fixture, Cherdonna Shinatra is a bio queen—a drag queen who is also a biological woman—with a face like a melting birthday cake and hair the size of an ottoman. Acting much like a sugar manic preteen at her first school dance, she starts things off my gyrating around the empty and otherwise sober set for a while, testing out the space. When it comes time for her to join the audience to watch the play from her plush red throne, she just. can’t. bear. it. She’s too excited, you see. This is Cherdonna’s favorite and everyone is going to love it.
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The schtick might not be for everyone, but her rumbling volcano of enthusiasm and unbridled love for everything she lays her eyes and hands on make her difficult to dislike Eventually the internal production of A Doll’s House begins, albeit underneath Cherdonna’s constant florescent presence. The cast—playing Ibsen’s characters and the actors playing those characters—tries its best to stay focused, but breaking to interact with their colorful love heckler becomes inevitable. Leah Salcido Pfennings as Nora, Ibsen’s quietly beleaguered protagonist, at first treats her like an unusual but harmless house guest, smiling politely as Cherdonna joyously violates everyone’s personal space. Samie Spring Detzer as Mrs. Linde all but passes out laughing every time Cherdonna speaks. Brace Evans would love to chat with Cherdonna about how he feels as a gay black feminist playing Dr. Rank in this white Norwegian man’s play. The Maid (Sally Brady) doesn’t have time for any of this. But this is Cherdonna’s Doll’s House, which means she can (and does) shout over lines or distract the audience with conversation or address actors directly to ask how they think the play is going or, in a stand out scene between Nora and Jeffery Azevedo’s Krogstad, demand they read their lines faster. No, faster! FASTER! In all of this, the non–Cherdonna cast earns its own share of laughs. Azevedo really nails the thankless task of playing it straight whenever Cherdonna interrupts. And Spring Detzer’s tryhard attempts to join in on the fun briefly upstages the flamboyant one herself.
Needless to say, the source material gets shoved under Cherdonna’s massive hairpiece, allowing only the broadest strokes of Ibsen’s play to make it through all the noise: Nora is a young wife with a secret and eyes set beyond the confines of her comfortable home. Her husband (Jason Sharp, doing a lot of dramatic heavy lifting as Torvald) won’t take her seriously, diminishing her with cute pet names and frivolous chatter. And this is the conflict that matters. When the turn happens (and it is a hell of a turn), Cherdonna’s Doll’s House works best if you were paying attention to Nora, too. Because when the men eventually take back control of the stage, the space between the two women evaporates. And the initially amusing contrast between Ibsen’s late-1800s feminist character and Kuehner’s colorful explosion of personal liberty becomes something more damning.
QUEER WHY MORE FESTIVALSTHRIVING ARE
• BY JAKE HALL •
YO! Sissy and Milkshake are filling a necessary demand for queer events in a saturated festival market, and they’re doing it on their own terms
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IN
2017
PHOTOS BY JESS FORD
While most of us see music festivals as an excuse to party too hard and quite possibly have mediocre sex in a fold-up tent, for the music industry these events are a financial lifeline. Last year, it was predicted that the music festival market could be worth as much as £3.5 billion by 2020. But while profitability has gone up, the market has become undeniably crowded. Despite the growing number of festivals around, and the cheaper and cheaper flights to get you there, there are still depressingly few festivals that cater explicitly to queer people. Plenty of big-name events might pop a few drag performers in a separate tent, yet queer festivals still belong to a niche that hasn’t been explored too fully–but that’s slowly beginning to change. Milkshake is just one festival aiming to combat this problem, creating a safe, special and unimaginably fabulous event each year in Amsterdam’s picturesque Westerpark. “I had been working in the electronic dance scene for more than 14 years,” explains founder Marieke Samallo, “but I missed a dance festival where I could go with all my friends—drag artists, gay boys, gay girls, my boyfriend and my other straight friends.” This ethos of inclusivity permeates the festival, whose lengthy ‘Milkshake Dictionary’ aims to promote tolerance and understanding amongst its attendees. “We have a message: ‘For all who love’. That message is the most important thing for us.” To some, it may seem strange to think that the world still needs these safe spaces in 2017. Plenty of people see corporate Pride sponsors, gay marriage (in some privileged western countries) and rising trans visibility in the media as a sign that things are improving
as opposed to merely gay. At Milkshake, stages like ‘Totally Female’ gathered talented DJs such as Shug La Sheedah, FemmeTastic and Sjeazy Pearl for a series of high-octane sets, whereas clubnights and collectives including London’s WUT?CLUB, Amsterdam’s Supertoys and Less Drama More Techno gathered their artist families to entertain the crowd. There were, of course, some gay gems—a bear ball-pit was one highlight, whereas the Village People dusted off their back catalogue to close out Sunday night in gloriously camp style. They even gave a bizarre tutorial to the ‘YMCA’ dance, seemingly annoyed that previous crowds had butchered the ‘M’. “These festivals not only prove a genuine demand for queer spaces, they also provide a blueprint for how to build them authentically” The rise of festivals like Milkshake and YO! Sissy is heartening not only because these spaces genuinely seek to combat these problems, but because they are driven by queer people. “We Things need to change, and slowly they work with organizations who are open-minded are. Yet another festival working hard to bring like us,” reiterates Samallo. “Milkshake works these changes into action is YO! Sissy, which with the All Who Love foundation; for example, last weekend brought its own queer mec- we organized a mini-festival on the Friday for ca back to cultural capital Berlin. An ethos mentally disabled LGBTQ+ people. We are of inclusivity is, again, high on the agenda committed to creating more courtesy and love for founders Pansy and Scout, but they also to each other.” Elsewhere, Pansy and Scout looked to the city’s own queer music scene for point out an impressive fact: “We have maninspiration: “Not only did established acts like aged to do all of this without major corporate Peaches, The Knife, Planningtorock and Pet sponsorship,” they explain. “That is no simple Shop Boys call Berlin their home, many young, feat in today’s music industry.” Alongside providing a safe space for queer burgeoning acts also set down their roots here,” they explain. “We wanted to find a way to people in particular, Samallo also set out to connect the two, to encourage collaboration inject color into the notoriously homogenous and to provide a platform for newer talent.” world of mainstream festivals. “I missed using Refreshingly, these festivals are genuinely queer a festival as a creative platform for audiences
for queer people—and, in some ways, they are. At the same time, the Trump administration is regressing LGBTQ+ rights at breakneck speed, hate crimes have continued to increase and homosexuality is still punishable by law in over 70 countries worldwide. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Even in supposedly queer spaces, racism, transphobia, misogyny and ableism are all rife, whereas many writers continue to argue that straight, cisgender women in particular are the problem—which, most of us know, is a shitty argument exemplary of the aforementioned misogyny in the gay community.
Refreshingly, these festivals are genuinely queer as opposed to merely gay
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ACCEPTANCE Never goes out of style
American Airlines is a trendsetter. We are the first and only airline to score 100% on the HRC’s Corporate Equality Index for six years in a row. Because doing the right thing is always in fashion. Book now at AA.com/rainbow
and artists to show their identities with pride; proud of being who you are, proud of being different,” she says. For this reason, there were countless gems scattered throughout the festival; from live on-stage performance artists and drag bingo to hidden clubs and vogue balls, there were plenty of surprises to be discovered. Likewise, YO! Sissy’s fusion of acclaimed musicians and avant-garde drag artists continues to draw huge crowds. This year’s line-up featured talent from across the world as well as a series of artist-led panels and workshops, whereas the YO! Sissy Marketplace provides opportunities for queer-owned businesses to reach a steadily-increasing audience. It’s not just about sickening outfits and lively performances; it’s about creating opportunities for often-marginalised creatives to make an impact and, importantly, get paid. Again, the same ethos of inclusivity permeates YO! Sissy: “At its most base level, our festival is focussed on creating line-ups which aren’t dominated by white, heterosexual men,” explain Pansy and Scout. “At its most complex level, we offer a safe haven for people that have been discriminated against for the majority of their lives. It’s more than a music festival; it’s a celebration of queer life and queer art.” In essence, these festivals not only prove a genuine demand for queer spaces, they also provide a blueprint for how to build them authentically. Remember when Kendall Jenner single-handedly ended police brutality with an ice-cold beverage? These same marketing mishaps are happening with queer issues—a misguided Heineken campaign, which insinuated trans women should chat with transphobes over a beer, was just one example. Pink-washing is a growing problem, and it’s a reason to analyse queer festivals critically to see just who is profiting from them. After all, a recent study showed that 57% of young people don’t identify as heterosexual—these are the statistics pored over by advertisers desperate to capture a youth demographic. Queerness may be popular, but a lack of genuinely queer spaces is still an enormous problem. By working with communities, avoiding corporate interference and spotlighting a series of undeniably fierce talents from across the globe, festivals like Milkshake and YO! Sissy are providing their own iridescent antidotes.
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• BY JUSTIN MORAN •
PHOTO BY ANDREW LYMAN
Rising Atlanta-based artist TAYLOR ALXNDR is gearing up to release her debut EP, NOISE, which will premiere July 7 through Futurehood, the queer label behind underground stars Mister Wallace and KC Ortiz. A self-proclaimed “DIY pop priestess,” ALXNDR leads her breakout project with “Nightwork,” a dense, autotune-heavy track about the oft overlooked hustle of drag culture—especially as a trans person of color. “I would like to somehow know my worth,” ALXNDR coos wistfully, but with a clear sense of self. “Cause I been putting in the nightwork.” ALXNDR’s “Nightwork” video, produced by ACAPULPO, was captured during an Atlanta show she performed at this December. With shots of the singer getting into gig, the visual showcases the behind-the-scenes process of a drag performance—all the gritty hard work that goes into a single night of glamour. “Sometimes you leave the show feeling empty, even with a purse full of tips,” she says, describing how the song unpacks the tug-and-pull relationship of life as a drag queen. Though dreamy and transcendent, the work is also labor-filled and exhausting. “NOISE is a soundtrack to the experiences of my life,” ALXNDR says of her debut. “As a queer and trans person of color trying to live and thrive in this world, you get used to the ‘noise’ or dissonance that comes with existing. From the noise of being a drag queen to the noise of being a part of the Black Trans Lives Matter movement, this EP captures the struggle and the success of my living. It’s a love letter to the communities I’m a part of that, despite the powers that be, still thrive.” Watch TAYLOR ALXNDR’s “Nightwork” video, on youtube.com.
Taylor Alxndr’s ‘Nightwork’ Video Unveils the Darker Side of Drag
“ I would like to somehow know my worth, cause I been putting in the nightwork.” R e s i s t ! D e c e m b e r 2 0 1 7 • 19
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The Radical Queerness of Kate McKinnon’s Justin Bieber The Saturday Night Live player has snuck a lesbian tradition onto network television in her brilliant impersonation of the tween idol. • BY SHAUNA MILLER •
The first time I saw Kate McKinnon’s Justin Bieber on Saturday Night Live, I was uncomfortably stirred. What was happening here? Despite McKinnon’s ridiculous poses and half-pouty, half-mournful expression, Biebs looked good, really good. He seemed taller, more mature, intriguing even—as if he had a secret. “Is that Kate McKinnon?,” I gasped. I hadn’t known until then what it was to squee, but overnight, I became an adult Belieber. (This never happened when Jimmy Fallon played him.) How was I, a grown, gay woman with no tweens of my own, to know I’d become so excited about a fairly ridiculous 20-year-old megastar? My Bieber knowledge up till this point had been basic: pop singer, created in a lab, pretty nice hair. Then, an extensive outbreak of highfade pompadours swept the lesbian community, traceable to an adult form of Bieber Fever. (Symptoms also included drop-crotch pants.) What brought on this collision of worlds? Part of it is that, well, Justin Bieber looks like a certain variety of young lesbian—fashion-conscious, butchy in an expensive-barber way, yet still soft in the face—who dreams that she, too, could totally date Selena Gomez one day. In fact, McKinnon’s Bieber might be one of the most radically queer images to sneak onto network TV right now. Clearly Bieber had infiltrated lesbian culture even before Kate McKinnon brought her hilariously accurate impression to my people on Saturday Night Live (seen most recently on the 40th-anniversary extravaganza playing Celebrity Jeopardy! with Will Ferrell’s exasperated
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It’s an equalopportunity gift to the world, but there’s a gay dog whistle on blast every time she’s on screen with that hair, those dumb pants, and that vacant “blue steel” stare. Alex Trebek and Darrell Hammond’s libidinous Sean Connery). It’s an equal-opportunity gift to the world, but there’s a gay dog whistle on blast every time she’s on screen with that hair, those dumb pants, and that vacant “blue steel” stare. McKinnon is SNL’s first out lesbian cast member (Danitra Vance, part of the show’s season-11 cast from 1985–1986, was by most accounts not out in the media before her death in 1994). Before SNL, McKinnon was on Logo’s Big Gay Sketch Show for three seasons. She’s definitely never been closeted, but her sexuality hasn’t really played into her work on SNL. She’s a petite, feminine, pretty, blond lady with hilarious facial expressions. But put that woman in a leather vest and you’ve got a smokin’ hot drag king smack in the middle of NBC’s longest-running show. Sure, it’s played for comedy. But her impression of Biebs is very convincing, even seductive—more so than I could ever find Real Bieber. Even as I’m howling with laughter, I’m blushing, because I’m witnessing something familiar and very queer. Who among the lesbian tribe hasn’t spent endless evenings at drag king shows, watching our friends lip sync Justin Timberlake songs while rocking meticulously placed sideburns and an over-enhanced package? Drag kinging is half sexy, half overthe-top reclaiming of female masculinity—and quintessentially queer. There’s a paucity of women doing drag in American popular culture. It’s the opposite with men: Think Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie, Tim Curry in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari in Bosom Buddies, all of The Kids in the Hall. (I’m not talking about transgender performers, like Laverne Cox, or cisgender actors who attempt to portray
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trans lives in increasingly prominent works, like Jeffrey Tambor’s Mora in Transparent. None of that is drag—it’s a reflection of lived gender identity. And with the exception of Hilary Swank as Brandon Teena in 1999’s Boys Don’t Cry, there’s a dearth of mainstream attempts to make the lives of trans men visible.) Suddenly there’s a smoking-hot drag king smack in the middle of NBC’s longest-running show. When women do perform drag, it isn’t played for laughs as often as it is with men—barring, perhaps, Joyce Hyser’s turn as Terry Griffith in 1985’s Just One of the Guys, or the now largely forgotten Amanda Bynes vehicle She’s the Man. Largely, women doing drag carries a more serious element of gender performance, preferably with a spoonful of sex appeal to help it go down for the masses. Picture Marlene Dietrich, riding the menswear fashion wave of the ‘30s. Gays and lesbians of the time could interpret the visual code being transmitted, but Dietrich was able to sell it to the straight world as mystique. Lady Gaga upped the ante at the 2011 VMAs when she showed up as her male alter ego, Jo Calderone. Her performance was closer to drag kinging, and was also a very Gaga experiment in audience reaction: “A little Jo Calderone goes a long way,” wrote Entertainment Weekly. More recently in the semi-mainstream, and somewhere between Jo and Lesbieber, there’s Portlandia’s Lance, of recurring couple Nina and Lance. He’s a longhaired lunkhead with a heart of gold and the patience of a man who could only actually be a woman. The fact that this woman is Carrie Brownstein—rock goddess of Wild Flag and
Sleater-Kinney fame—is almost too much of a crushed-out thrill to bear. Brownstein has always had a pretty oblique relationship to the lesbian community, though she is out and has written the soundtracks to 90 percent of indie-rocker gay-girl breakups. She’s always been pretty feminine, too, but here she is in a white tank top and engineer boots. It’s admittedly a very niche dream, but for lesbians finally living it, it feels like a major cultural gift. In the same way, Kate McKinnon knows what she’s doing, and she knows her different audiences. She’s a gifted performer, an unlikely lesbian sex symbol—who revealed to Conan O’Brien that she channels the Beeb look by “looking like a puppy who just piddled and is sort of sorry about it.” Even Bieber himself has to acknowledge the likeness: He tweeted a response to her most recent January parody of his #MyCalvins Calvin Klein underwear ads. McKinnon manages to present all of this as just a joke, totally nonpolitical. It’s not that simple, of course. And that’s a feat only the best comedians can manage, one she pulls off with swagger and a barely contained smirk.
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Why Drag Is the Ultimate Retort to Trump • BY SPENCER KORNHABER •
RuPaul Charles, America’s most famous drag queen, sat on a gold lamé couch at a luxury hotel in Midtown Manhattan one Tuesday in March, doling out advice for the white working class. Wearing a patterned suit jacket and black slacks—one of his signature out-of-drag looks—he made a hand motion to suggest widgets being moved from one part of an assembly line to the next. “If you were a factory worker and your job was to put this to this from 9 to 5, we don’t do that anymore,” he said, his soft voice carrying the imperious, jokey edge familiar to viewers of RuPaul’s Drag Race, his reality-TV show. Then he referenced a viral video from Ts Madison, a transgender activist and former porn star: “You better step your pussy up. Get on a business, bitch!” He delivered this spiel with the clipped, decisive tone of a therapist on the clock. “Nature will not allow you to just sail on through doing some factory job,” he said. “We don’t do factories anymore.” At 56, RuPaul is in little personal danger of being phased out; he is, to the contrary, one of gay pop culture’s most enduringly relevant figures. Over the past quarter century, he has done more than anyone to bring drag to the American mainstream. At the same time, he has used his platform to act as life coach to the queer masses, counseling self-love and hard work to combat social stigma and inner doubt. (Catchphrase: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”) But lately, thanks to political developments, this inspirational package has come with a dose of indignation, and a sharpened sense of social purpose. In November, RuPaul tweeted that he was “finding it hard to carry on ‘business as usual’ after America got a giant swastika tattooed on her forehead,” and he told New York magazine’s Vulture website that Donald Trump’s win felt “like the death of America.” By the time I met up with him in March, right before the premiere party for Drag Race’s
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The pussification of America—the freedom of men to partake in that which society has marked as feminine and vice versa— is exactly what RuPaul wants.
ninth season, his mood had improved considerably, but his focus was “We need America’s next drag superstar now more than ever”—the still on the political scene. “My optimism is back. I understand what it implication being that cross-dressing has taken on a special charge is we must do,” he said. “We’re going to mobilize young people who under Trump. Which isn’t to say the show wasn’t socially engaged have never been mobilized, through our love of music, our love of before. In the Obama era, Drag Race cheered on gay rights and love, our love of bright colors.” reveled in gender identity’s vagaries just as gay rights were making Such mobilization would seem to already be in progress, thanks to significant gains and many Americans were beginning to grapple in Drag Race. Tuning in is like entering a fluorescent cocoon of camp, earnest with transgender people’s existence. Still, the rejection of a where men who perform as women battle in a wild reimagining of woman president in favor of a man who reportedly prefers his female Project Runway. Launched on Logo, Viacom’s queer-focused network, staffers to “dress like women” and whose supporters rail against “cucks” in 2009, the show is ubiquitous in many gay-friendly circles; this spring, and “the pussification of America” places drag in a more obviously it moved to VH1, in a bid to bring drag to a wider audience. defiant context: The pussification of America—the freedom of men The moment seems ripe for it. An ad for Season 9features the ta- to partake in that which society has marked as feminine and vice gline “Drastic times call for dragtastic measures” and RuPaul saying, versa—is exactly what RuPaul wants.
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The early months of the Trump presidency have seen drag flourish as a form of political critique. The signature pop-culture send-up of the administration has come not from Alec Baldwin’s pursed-lip Trump on Saturday Night Live but from Melissa McCarthy’s wild-eyed Sean Spicer—a parody of macho huffiness that reportedly infuriated Trump because, a source told Politico, he “doesn’t like his people to look weak.” This reaction led some critics to call for SNL to drag up the entire administration; Kate McKinnon has since portrayed Jeff Sessions, and Rosie O’Donnell has offered to play Steve Bannon. Underscoring the sense of gender panic in Trumpland, one of early 2017’s defining memes came when a conservative Twitter user added the words “This is the future liberals want” above a picture of a niqab-clad woman and a drag queen—two bogeyladies of the culture wars—sitting comfortably
on one New York City subway bench. The fact that for many liberals this indeed was a perfectly lovely vision prompted much hilarity; one of Drag Race’s stars, a deranged-Russian-prostitute character named Katya Zamolodchikova, tweeted the same caption with a photo of herself crouching grotesquely in a green bodysuit and Birkenstocks. RuPaul’s own Twitter feed has become a steady source of gif-laden jabs against the “Manchurian pumpkin,” his preferred term for the president. RuPaul: What’s the Tee?, the motivational and comedic podcast he co-hosts with Michelle Visage, a Drag Race judge, has begun devoting more time to current events. The title track of his new album, American, uses thumping dance pop to assert that gay black drag queens are as American as anyone else. He’s deejayed events to benefit Planned Parenthood and the ACLU in recent months. When
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I suggested that his level of political engagement had increased, he replied that he’d long been outspoken about politics but not policies. “Now I’ve been happy to talk about policies,” he said. “Because the world’s gone batshit fucking crazy.” In person, RuPaul is very much the same self-possessed bald beanpole that Drag Race audiences have watched dispense advice and shade to contestants—except his freckles are more noticeable, and his shade can be turned on you. At one point, while discussing the virtues of transformation, he eyed my outfit and suggested that drag could teach the squares of the world to live a little, sartorially speaking: “When you think you’ve landed on this look with the black jeans and blue shirt for the rest of your life, we’re here to say, ‘You know, it’s justclothes.’ ” (For the record, my pants were dark green.) As we talked, RuPaul seemed to be looking over my shoulder into the hotel lobby; he was, he explained, watching for his husband, Georges LeBar, who was on his way with a chicken panini. The two married in January, partly out of concern that same-sex marriage could be rolled back under Trump. Though the wedding was in some ways a formality—they’ve been together for 23 years—it contributes to the sense that this is a time of personal flourishing for RuPaul. In a nod to his popularity (as well as to how insane politics has gotten), John Oliver proposed on Last Week Tonight that the drag queen could run for president as the progressive reality-TV-star retort to Trump (hypothetical slogan: “Make America fierce again”). In April, RuPaul debuted as a recurring character on the Netflix sitcom Girlboss, playing the main character’s crotchety neighbor; J. J. Abrams is developing a dramedy based on RuPaul’s years as a fixture of the New York City club scene. The source material is rich. After a childhood split between San Diego and Atlanta, in the care of first his mother and later an older sister, RuPaul worked as an entertainer and shape-shifting party presence, donning loincloths and dabbling in David Bowie–esque androgyny while fronting the new-wave bands Wee Wee Pole and RuPaul and the U Hauls. Eventually, he settled in New York. By 1993, he’d shellacked himself into the 7-foot-tall (in heels) “glamazon” character who rocketed to fame off the dance single “Supermodel (You Better Work)”; this, in turn, led to a talk show on VH1. Now Drag Race aims to subject less established drag queens to some of the same trials of “charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent” that he once faced. “My career has been built on the fringe of the status quo,” RuPaul told me. “There was no blueprint for what I do.” Of course, drag as it’s commonly practiced today did exist before RuPaul, mostly among queer folks whose pageants, any decent social theorist will tell you, delighted in exposing the artificiality of both femininity and masculinity. RuPaul’s rise to stardom was part of a public coming-out for the practice, which coincided with a wave of ’90s era drag-themed movies, including The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and the acclaimed documentary Paris Is Burning. Though the decade was a boon to his career, he thinks back with some frustration on various cultural gatekeepers who treated him more as a curiosity than as a social critic. He says he’s always approached drag as “punk rock”—as an instrument of resistance. “Just being someone’s punch line is not my idea of fun.”
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He eyed my outfit and suggested that drag could teach the squares of the world to live a little.
Today, even as he finds himself at new heights of acclaim, RuPaul sometimes feels that same sense of being misunderstood. Before a recent TV appearance promoting Drag Race, a producer asked whether he’d be willing to teach the show’s host how to walk like a supermodel. The request offended him. “I’m not doing drag to give you makeup tips,” he told me. “This has always been a political statement.” That political statement doesn’t exactly lend itself to specific action items, of course; RuPaul is as fluent in righteous woowoo as any outspoken celebrity. “Following your heart is the most political thing you can do,” he told me at one point. Yet he seems sincere in his conviction that it is worth seeking out the deeper meaning of things that appear superficial. On a recent episode of What’s the Tee?, he quizzed the actress Leah Remini on her acrylic nails and then, without pausing, asked, “I wonder what the subtext of having nails is?…Psychologically speaking, what’s underneath that?” And he seems equally sincere in his belief that lewd puns and piled-high wigs can fight everything from gender essentialism to consumerism. “Our culture is about choosing an identity and sticking with it so people can market shit to you,” he said. “Anything that switches that around is completely the antithesis of what our culture implores us to do.” Outside drag race’s season-premiere party, at the PlayStation Theater, in Times Square, the latest crop of contestants mugged for the cameras. Nina Bo’nina Brown wore facial prosthetics designed to resemble a gorilla; Jaymes Mansfield had on a Muppets-inspired bodice; Kimora Blac sported breasts evoking a pervy video-game designer’s version of the female form. Though some of the queens talked up their “fishiness”—the joyfully crass drag term for seeming like a real woman—their outlandish getups illustrated one of RuPaul’s central assertions: that drag’s real purpose has less to do with passing for another gender than with highlighting gender’s artificiality. At one end of the red carpet, Sadie Gennis, a TVGuide.com editor, asked each queen to play a game of word association with some names: Oscar the Grouch, Emma Stone, Donald Trump. The responses to Trump’s name were remarkable in their uniformity. Sasha Velour: “Already a horrifying drag queen.” Eureka O’Hara: “Girl, that hairline’s a mess. You ain’t never heard of lace glue?” Shea Couleé: “Girl, look how orange you fucking look, girl!” (The last line, which quotes a now-legendary Drag Race squabble about makeup, has shown up on anti-Trump protest signs.) This notion of Trump as a drag queen is a common punch line, thanks not only to his Technicolor tan, bouffant hair, and love of insults, but also to his
exaggerated display of masculinity. And yet when I put to RuPaul the idea that the president is a drag artist, he drew an important distinction: Trump “actually believes he is that thing. As drag queens, we know we’re putting on a facade and we’re always aware of it, which is what scares the status quo. He believes he looks good. He believes he’s looking like a real man.” However visceral RuPaul’s distaste for Trump, he isn’t quite your typical Hollywood progressive. Yes, he thinks the guardians of straight white orthodoxy should lighten up, but he feels much the same way about, among others, liberal types who want him to apologize for using the word tranny. Though RuPaul supports federal protections for transgender people and welcomes trans contestants on Drag Race, he can sound downright conservative when talking about the self-seriousness of liberal identity politics (he declines to describe himself as a liberal). And Drag Race’s cheeky flirtation with gender and racial stereotypes—to say nothing of how it reappropriates terms like bitch—hasn’t always rated as politically correct. “I’ll make a joke about something and people will print it out and it sounds awful, when it’s really clear my standpoint is ‘Live your life, be free, do what you feel you need to do,’ ” he told me. As the premiere party got under way, RuPaul appeared onstage, startling the sold-out house—the advertised lineup of performances by Drag Race personalities hadn’t included his name—and received the loudest applause of the night, despite the fact that he was the only one whose outfit wouldn’t have drawn a second look on the street. Introducing a clip of Season 9, he explained that the first episode would feature Lady Gaga. He turned to the drag queen Lady Bunny, a longtime friend. “We tried to get Lady Bunny [for the show], but she turned us down,” he said, letting out a high, knowing laugh. “Lady Bunny, you are a whore.” The video that followed boasted much of the frivolity and bizarreness fans of the show have come to expect. The cast’s first meeting quickly gave way to sniping about eyebrow shapes; one queen was done up like a voluptuous rodent. But the opening episode, which aired later in March, also reflected an engagement with larger issues. One contestant sobbingly told Lady Gaga that her career had helped save lives; another wore a leotard scrawled with #blacklivesmatter. Though the episode had been filmed before November, it was not hard, watching it, to anticipate the turns that Drag Race might take in the future. “This whole election thing was probably the best thing that could have happened,” RuPaul had remarked to me earlier in the day, before leaving his hotel. “Because everyone is getting woke. These bitches are waking up.”
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Tunde Olaniran wants The Flint, Michigan, pop experimentalist talks about how to make political music that isn’t corny and shares the video for “Namesake.” • BY KYLE KRAMER •
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you to be you & be great Last year, around the time that Tunde Olaniran released his excellent, explosive, genre-mashing album Transgressor, I gave the singer a call to talk about it. He was shopping in a suburban Michigan Target between Ann Arbor, where his work as an outreach manager and teen educator for Planned Parenthood had taken him for the day, and Flint, where he lives. We were covering the kinds of topics that inevitably come up when discussing Olaniran’s music—personal and racial identity, developing new structures for pop music, etc.—when he was interrupted by a fan he described as a “soccer mom.” He laughed, coming back on the phone. “If you could see where I am, it’s like, you literally just left a PTA meeting. She’s like ‘it’s lit’!” Tunde Olaniran’s music may dive into serious territory, but his persona is above all one that embraces the absurdity and excitement of everything.
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These kinds of reactions, though, are becoming more common oh this is background music. So it’s kind of aggressive and abrasive as people stumble across Olaniran’s music, helped along by criti- and loud intentionally. I just don’t want it to be like you can ignore it if cal acclaim and the recent placement of his single “Namesake” in a it’s playing. And maybe it’s annoying, but I’m kind of ok with that too. Motorola commercial. Olaniran pulls together the accessible charm of N: Why do you say that? Why is it so important to grab people’s attention? mainstream pop anthems with abrasive electronic tones and rapidfire TO: It’s not even that. It’s my attention. I get bored really easily rap verses, all the while coursing through topics like self-esteem and listening to music. I just have that very short attention span, so I need systemic racial violence and Taco Bell combo meals. Transgressor, even something that keeps my attention, because if I have to perform this moreso than its engaging predecessor or be behind it, I don’t want to be bored EP Yung Archetype, is an album that feels listening to it. Also, performance is really like a rubric for some imminent sci-fi pop important to me. Every song, I have to be future. I could honestly see it as part of able to imagine like myself performing it. Beyoncé’s musical vision board, both I think people get the album more deeply sonically and thematically. if they see a live show. “I’ve always been really interested N: When you were writing these songs, with the idea of transgression because would you write the song and then be like, with like the idea of you do something “ok, how can I come up with an accompathat can be so silly and innocuous and nying live thing for this to make sure it’s innocent, or it’s not even that big of good enough to include on the album”? a deal, but society’s reaction to it is a TO: It usually starts with production first, million times worse than what you even but especially as I’m writing the lyrics, putdid,” Olaniran said, explaining the title ting the vocal arrangement together, I’m and citing actions ranging from wearing imagining what is gonna happen onstage. an unusual hairstyle to shutting down And if I can’t, if I don’t like what I see, then a highway in political protest as these I probably will not finish the song because types of transgressions. “Namesake,” I’m not feeling that it’s gonna be fun for which we’re premiering the video for beme to perform this. Even if other people low, tackles this theme from a personal like it, why should I be stuck performing angle of “scattered autobiography.” And it? I work with some people, and they’re speaking of autobiography, it comes at literally writing a song just so like Toyota a pivotal moment in Olaniran’s musical will pick it up and put it in a commercial. career: Today’s release coincides with his Which, make your money, I’m not gonna last day of work at his job, as he heads hate on that, that’s great, but—and this is into music full time. “I’ve worked at Planned Parenthood since I was probably why it’s hard for me to get licensing—I don’t write toward a kid in their high school peer educator program, so it feels like I’m that end. I’m so happy writing. It’s like really joy, joyful feeling for me. leaving home or something,” he shared over email. N: Do you have a dance background? The video itself is a fairly stripped down dance scene in a park pavilTO: No, I was just fat. I didn’t dance. I wasn’t like the cool-fat yoga ion. It’s an impressive and moving display, but, in true Olaniran style, it people that you see on youtube. I was just not an athletic person, and has a funny backstory, too, which involved a high school girl who was I actually had no rhythm. Growing up, I wasn’t around black people, working at the park having to kick out a group of “biker dads” who or black culture, ‘cause we were in European culture, or like British were barbecuing there so that it could be filmed. Such is the way with Nigerian culture. So I didn’t have a lot of that, and I kind of picked it Olaniran: Everything has a lot of meaning, and anything can be a lot of fun. up seeing videos, like Missy Elliot videos. And I’m just kind of a mimic. Noisey: What were you trying to accomplish on Transgressor? So I just started copying stuff. Tunde Olaniran: I really wanted to actually just put forward—when N: Was there a moment when you kind of like became more interyou strip it down to the skeleton it’s just really basic-ass pop songs. ested in that? Like, they’re really just basic. But we have a lot of interesting sounds TO: Around 2010, 2011, I was performing as a solo artist. I was in a plugged into the blank spaces of where, it would be like, “this is the band before that, and I started performing as Tunde. I did a few shows bridge, this is the whatever.” We’ll have like a cat meowing instead where it was like, me and a drum machine and keyboard, and I’m like of a wall of synth. So I just had to kind of bring the sounds that like ‘fuck, I want dancers.’ I realized that I kind of knew what I wanted it piqued my interest as I scoured the internet into something kind of to look like, and I just started working on it more and more. Giving coherent. To me, it’s just pop songs but geared toward non-traditional yourself permission is the first thing that you have to do. I’ve just now subject matter. But the reason I love it is it moves me. I really wanted stopped apologizing to my dancers over and over. They’re like, ‘shut something that moved me, and that I felt like people could sing along up, it’s cool.’ I’ve gotten way more confident in the past two years. with. I wanted people to have little parts of the songs that they love. N: Tell me more about your experience of growing up in England Even if it’s just moments, I want every song to have something where and Germany. it’s like, “oh yeah I’m just waiting for this part to happen.” But I also TO: Nigeria was a British colony, so a lot of people from there live wanted it to be something where you wouldn’t put it on and it’s like, in England. I lived in London. I would basically end up staying with
To me,it’s just pop songs but geared toward non-traditional subject matter.But the reason I love it is it moves me. I really wanted something that moved me,and that I felt like people could sing along with. I wanted people to have little parts of the songs that they love. Even if it’s just moments.
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PHOTO BY KATIE PRESLEY
my grandmother or aunt and with my cousins. I don’t know if you end up being the opposite of your parents, but my mom is a very, super outgoing like amazingly warm, loving person. We always had people in the house, and so I think because of that, I became really like, not isolated in like depression, but I just liked being alone. I was not only an only child, but I liked being alone. And then when you’re in a country where you don’t necessarily know the language, or you’re very clearly not from that place—even with my dad’s family, like, they claim me, I’m Nigerian, but I didn’t grow up speaking Yoruba because he didn’t teach it to me. So even within that family I’m very much an outsider. Like, I remember telling my grandma, you know I’m a witch right. And she was like, whatever, like she’s still very Christian, religious. So me being like a vegetarian, all this stuff, they would kind of just roll their eyes, without really understanding maybe who I am as a person, or what my values are, or appreciating that my values can be different. So all those things kind of left me
feeling isolated, but just led me to turn inward more, and like focus on a fantasy world a little bit. Probably a lot of that comes out in the music and the imagery. N: How much of your childhood was spent abroad? TO: Up until high school. I was born in Flint. And then for a bit my dad took us to Nigeria, but then I came back, and that was the biggest culture shock, being in Flint as a teenager. I remember my first day of school. Looking back, it was 50 percent black—it was actually half and half—but for me it was like an all black school. It was odd. It wasn’t a hard time, it’s just a lot of new experiences and a lot of new influences. Like still today, I don’t say the n-word. That is not OK anywhere in my home, growing up. I’ve caught myself accidentally saying it and like look around, like is my mom here?! I wasn’t like an outcast or whatever, but I had a close, small group of friends. I was actually volunteering and working at Planned Parenthood in high school, so a lot of my friends were through that. But I feel like
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I’ve come to really love Flint. To the media, or the outside media, it’s really just like, “what a horrible place to live!” But, I really like it. And everyone from Flint that’s an artist, if they’re a good artist, they’re so crazy good. I think there’s like a passionate kind of intensity that comes from living in Flint that you don’t necessarily get elsewhere. N: As you’ve evolved more with making music, have you developed a clearer sense of what you want your music to be about? Many of your songs lean into political topics. TO: I think the stuff that I’m talking about in the songs is just what I have always thought about. Obviously and hopefully your values change and evolve, so that will change the music. But I also don’t want to make music that someone else could offer. I feel like almost every pop song out now sounds like the Ferngully soundtrack. It’s like Phil Collins, Ferngully. I just want it to be like there’s a point that I’m specifically doing this, that it’s not interchangeable, it’s not disposable. And that you can get something out of it beyond just like: I love this person. That’s what most music is like. Or, I think you’re great. We’re both rich. Great. Or like, people don’t like me, and I don’t care that they don’t like me. That’s the basic point of like so many songs. And there’s something to be said for doing it really fucking well. There’s something to be said for someone that can make a tired ass subject still feel fresh. So I’m not discounting the fact that that can happen. But I don’t know if I can necessarily do that. And I don’t feel like there’s a need for me to be contributing more of those songs. So I want to do something that feels like you’re not gonna get quite this kind of thing from any other artist. I also just feel like it’s really dumb for me to be scared of talking about lots of things that are important to me, that I work toward in other parts of my life. Then in my music I don’t talk about it? That just seems strange. I want to make music that I want to dance to and I want to perform to, but I also want to feel like I said what I wanted to say about this issue, but in a way that isn’t preachy. We have a lot of music like that, where it’s like very preachy, and I don’t want to like cloud the enjoyment of a song.
N: It’s very difficult to make music that both has a political message and isn’t lame. TO: Have you heard Afrikan Boy, “Lidl”? The lyrics are: “one day I went to Lidl. I was really really hungry. I wanted some food, so I stole it.” It’s super basic-seeming, but this song is amazing because it’s real! You’re talking about you’re fucking broke, you’re an immigrant in this country, you get put into this fucked, this ridiculous prison system. All that’s in there, but he just was like, “I was hungry, I didn’t have any money, so I stole something.” To me that kind of shit is great, if you can keep it simple but really be real with what’s happening. N: Your music has a lot to do with personal identity. Are there things that you feel like your music has done a really good job of bringing out, that maybe you weren’t expecting to explore? TO: I don’t know how people would maybe look at other music I’ve released, and be like “this was always there,” but I felt like there was a particular kind of aggression that I hadn’t really brought out before Transgressor. It’s like wielding a measured kind of aggression that felt really good to get out in some of the delivery. Like with “Everyone’s Missing,” I had written that song, but I had this workshop and we were talking about people passing away. It was originally an acoustic song on cello with a friend that I had written, and when I produced it, one of my friends, one of the people at the label was like, “I feel like there’s even more you can say about this, like maybe you should add another verse.” I didn’t want to, and then I started, and I was like “oh shit, I’m like really angry.” I’m glad she made me write this because I think that third verse was probably the best one. The first line is “grief and mourning kendo.” Kendo, it’s a meditative art. You meditate through repetition of movement. And it’s a martial art, so it’s like a self-defense. It’s because we are having to constantly reset our grieving cycles, whether it’s a national loss, or we’ve lost a lot of people in Flint. You feel like you’re just constantly grieving. And then also just being upset. I think I wrote it after the Eric Garner verdict. I was being really upset, and I’m like OK, we’re gonna write this and get out.
I want to make music that I want to dance to and I want to perform to, but I also want to feel like I said what I wanted to say about this issue, but in a way that isn’t preachy. We have a lot of music like that, where it’s like very preachy, and I don’t want to like cloud the enjoyment of a song.
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Battle o
f the Se xes
Billie Je an King ’s
Win Wa s f o r Everyon e
The tennis l egend put her reputati line for wom on on the en’s equalit y, but she’s been an int always ersectional force.
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photo that Faris and Dayton re-create in the film features the pioneering tennis stars holding up $1 bills—symbols of the $1 contracts they signed. And nearly 40 years later the women still have each other’s backs. Not only did King ask the filmmakers to please honor the Original 9 in the film, but also six of the women were present for the movie’s premiere in Los Angeles this past weekend. “The only thing I asked Jonathan and Valerie is…I know I’m supposed to stay out of the way, but if you could put the Original 9 in, I would love it because it’s a ‘we’ thing and not an ‘I’ thing,” King says. “And we really stuck together through thick and thin, and they did [include the Original 9]! I was really happy. We’re holding up those $1 bills—that was the birth of women’s professional tennis.” The Battle of the Sexes film ends with 29-yearold King defeating Riggs at the packed Houston Astrodome in 1973, but the activism that King and the women of the Original 9 began changed the perception of women in sports forever, and the reverberations of their work could be felt earlier this month when Sloane Stephens banked $3.7 million in prize money for her triumphant win at the U.S. Open. And while King’s contribution to advancing opportunities for women and girls is incalculable—she founded the Women’s Sports Foundation in 1974 in part to protect Title IX, the federal law passed in 1972 to ban gender-based discrimination in education—she’s always kept her eye on the ball of ensuring equal opportunity for all regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation, and so on. Beyond King’s drive to secure equal opportunities for women, she became an icon for LGBT people. Although she was
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forced to come out in 1981 when Marilyn Barnett, the woman she’d become involved with in the early ’70s while she was married to Larry King, filed a palimony suit, she did so with fearlessness at a time when very few public figures identified as LGBT, and again, her actions reverberated for generations to come. Faris and Dayton’s film ends long before King came out, but it does volley between the competitive, business side of King building the Women’s Tennis Association, prepping for the match with Riggs that would be analyzed for nearly half a century, and her budding love affair with Barnett (Andrea Riseborough). While it may be difficult for younger generations, or “globals,” as she says she calls millennials because “it’s such a small world now,” to understand King’s having waited to come out, it was about picking her battles. And, as always, considering the fact that she was a “we” with the women on the tour and not an “I.” “I was out in ’81 and I told the truth. And my lawyer and my PR person didn’t want me to. On the tour during the late ’70s, this woman who just saw the movie, who was the highest one in Philip Morris at the time because of Virginia Slims, told me, ‘You can’t say anything [about being gay] or you have no tour,’” King says. “I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. It wasn’t just about me coming out. ‘OK, I’m gay. Oh, now we don’t have a tour? How am I going to affect the tour and the future?’” Faris and Dayton’s film reproduces a close approximation of the era that paints Riggs as something of a lovable buffoon of a chauvinist, which, in light of the current political climate in which the de facto leader of the free world, Donald Trump, won the Electoral College despite his misogynistic comments about women, some may find hard to swallow. But by all accounts, including King’s, who maintained a friendship with him until his death in 1995, Riggs was likable. But it also speaks to King’s generosity of spirit and empathy for all that she saw beyond his braggadocio in saying things like, “I’m not saying that women don’t belong on the court. Who would pick up the balls otherwise?” as he was quoted in the film. King, the winner of 39 Grand Slam titles, has said repeatedly that she couldn’t have beaten Riggs if she didn’t respect him. “He was a chauvinist,” she reassures, but adds, “He wanted to be loved and have attention. Don’t we all? We want to give it and get it.” King’s answer then and now to combating forces that seek to divide is equal parts diplomacy, pragmatism, and perseverance. “Sexism does exist. We all know it. I try to stay away from the gender card all the time because it can alienate a lot of people, and our job is to get people together,” King says. “It doesn’t do any good to complain. It does a lot of good to come up with solutions. First, identify the problem, come up with a solution, and slowly just keep working and whittling away at it.” And certainly, King has whittled away at a great deal of inequity by following her own advice. If the film appears lily-white for modern audiences, save for Original 9 player Rosie Casals (Natalie Morales), whose parents immigrated from El Salvador, Faris and Dayton have accurately depicted the world of tennis before women like Venus and Serena Williams and Stephens dominated the court. But it’s never been lost on King that tennis at the time didn’t meet her worldview of opportunity for all.
In the excellent American Masters: Billie Jean King, which aired champagne has been popped in a win for all women, especially in light in 2013 on PBS, King said that she recognized the inequities in the of the fact that her contemporary Margaret Court lost badly to him several sport early on. “I remember sitting at the Los Angeles Tennis Club months prior in a match that was dubbed “The Mother’s Day Massacre.” and noticing that everybody in tennis wore white shoes, white socks, And although the film ends about a decade before her coming-out white balls, and everybody was white. I realized it was an elitist sport,” years and all that King would come to signify for LGBT visibility, it teleKing says in the documentary. “And I remember the question I asked graphs through her friendship with the tour’s gay clothing designer, myself as 12-year-old. ‘Where’s everybody else? I don’t see people Ted Tinling (Alan Cumming), a message of hope for the future for of color. That’s not right.’” women, LGBT people, and all. Still, King continually points out that not only were women woefully At a time when the future of civil rights for marginalized people in the underpaid compared to the men but also that people of color weren’t United States looks bleaker than it has in a generation and even Title IX even involved in the sport back in the day. is under siege under Education Secretary Betsy DeVos, King’s optimism King praises Faris, Dayton, and the film’s writer, Simon Beaufoy, for is infectious because she’s been through it, breaking down barrier after nailing the era on multiple levels. They got “what was going on in barrier with her grit while also, always, considering the bigger picture. society—the way they treated women. And how white everything was “You have to keep convincing people but also listening to people. It’s a except for Rosie.” she says. “And now we had three women of color out long process. Every generation has to fight for it,” King says. “Every day of the four semifinalists at the Open this year. And that shows progress, nick away, just chip away at trying to do the right thing. And influence and that’s thanks to Venus and Serena [Williams].” people. Everyone’s an influencer, so everyone can help.” The film ends shortly after Stone’s King has tossed her racket in the air victoriously after beating Riggs in three straight sets and the
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Femm e Publi c IN
• ARTICLE BY MAMBA •
• PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALEX HOPKINS •
An American performance artist and a group of South African transgender and gender-non-conforming artists have come together for Femme in Public, a fierce new creative project. In December, US performance artist, activist and poet Alok Vaid-Menon and Joshua Allen teamed up with Cape Town stylists, designers, photographers, musicians, writers, activists and performance artists to document a live fashion protest on the streets.
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The Femme in Public collaboration aimed to unapologetically bring trans and gender non conforming issues to the fore, said the artists. Vaid-Menon explained that while visiting South Africa he met up with his friend Josh Allen. “I had been to South Africa a couple of times before and knew that there were many creatives here doing incredible work to challenge legacies of colonialism and the gender binary.
“Josh and I connected with Siya and Kieron, two queer femme artists of colour from Johannesburg who were in town. We sat down over drinks and conversation and realised that we wanted to shoot together. What began as a conversation turned out to be a huge and transformative experience.” Fashion maven Gavin Mikey Collins co-ordinated and directed the shoot that saw the likes of Umlilo, Kieron Jina, Sandiso Ngubane, Githan
A creative spotlight on trans & gender non-conforming identities
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Coopoo, Vuyisani Bisholo, Quaid “Queezy” Heneke and Allen “disrupt the heteronormative and colonial gaze with their unwavering celebration of femininity”. “With the recent advent of the ‘transgender tipping point,’ representation of trans people in the media continues to be of people who are binary (identifying as a ‘man’ or a ‘woman,’), white, and conventionally attractive,” said Vaid-Menon “My work is about creating more representations of gender non-conforming people of colour who have been and continue to be at the front of the movement for gender liberation.” Photographers and videographers Jabu Newman, Alexis ‘Shakalulu’ Strimenos, Charles Mackenzie, Alex Hopkins (Loure Group) and Miguel Vanas, who are from all over the world but currently based in Cape Town, helped bring this celebration to life visually. This resulted in a photo shoot, workshops and a performance event by Vaid-Menon featuring Umlilo, Kieron Jina, Sandi Blouse and Shaheed Martin at Cape Town’s Deuce Bar. “Being ‘Femme in Public’ is a choice I have made to celebrate who I am and what makes me feel alive,” said Kieron Jina. “We live in a very chaotic yet beautiful world of shaming people for being who they are. Femme in Public is activism.” Allen added that, “Being ‘Femme in Public’ is about finally bringing right to childhood wrongs.” “When I think back on all the days of changing my clothes in the bathroom after school before returning home or all the nights of wearing a big jacket home on Friday night after a party to hide my outfit. Being ‘Femme in Public’ is about finally being able to hold my head high and be confident as exactly who I am,” said Allen. Find more photographs at mambaonline.com.
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Ten Transgender And Non-Binary Musicians You Need To Listen To
10. AYE NAKO
Aye Nako deals with issues of racial fetishization and gender identity through crooked instrumentation and stilted melodies that work in every sense to turn punk on its head. The band certainly works to be a part of a growing group of musicians that provide a voice for Queer PoC in alternative music scenes, a voice that has often Popular music is built upon artists that have lens of popular music keeps these musicians been stifled. Songs such as “White Noise” off toyed with the gender binary. The influence fighting for attention. It’s important to highlight of the band’s most recent record The Blackest of musicians like Prince, Wendy Carlos, and artists existing in certain minorities, as other Eye mainly focus on singer Mars Ganito’s inGenesis P-Orridge on the musical landscape is people belonging to these groups can see ternalized racism from growing up in a society especially being felt in the modern age, where themselves and see someone with a similar where whiteness is the norm and blackness is gender has become a much more openly dis- identity existing successfully. There is hope consistently defined as something less than. This cussed topic. Artists that identify as transgender in recognition, and mainstream music is of- disparity is echoed in modern indie rock scenes or non-binary are finally beginning to see an ten very exclusive when it comes to someone and Aye Nako is part of the many bands working increased acceptance in the musical world. who is not straight, cis, or white. Personally, I to dismantle it. Through the band’s fuzzy, jagged However this acceptance does not immediately identify as nonbinary, and it is comforting to guitar work, they are already well on their way. equal an open door, which many of these artists see musicians like me being successful in their Recommended albums: The Blackest Eye and are still fighting to kick open. The cisnormative fields. Anyway, onto the list… Unleash Yourself
Because there’s hope in recognition.
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RAE SPOON
9.
Rae Spoon merges country sensibilities with occasional electronic elements for their chilly, introspective albums. Much of their lyrics concern experiences growing up in a staunchly religious family and its complex repercussions while other songs play with the clash between queer identity and growing up in a prairie region. Their albums come with consistent composure that may set them apart from other artists on the list, though this does not discount any of their music in the slightest. It is thoughtful and devoted to maturity in the bizarre world that surrounds it. Rae Spoon sings as an outcast in the folky world they belong to, not praising it nor condemning it, but simply describing their experiences as they happen. Recommended albums: superioryouareinferior and My Prairie Home
TUNDE OLANIRAN
Tunde Olaniran, who identifies as genderqueer, has been putting out his playful electronic music for a couple of years now and shows no signs of getting any less theatrical. Every song constantly bounces around between quirky R&B and beats bearing the bawdiness of a buzzsaw. This desire to never settle in a singular musical aesthetic keeps his albums endlessly interesting. There is an allegiance to club music as well as a desire to dismantle it. It merges trap, punk, and pop for something equally socially conscious and socially ridiculous and it is most exciting on songs such as “Critical” and “Brown Boy, which are their own works of sonic collage in their own right. Recommended albums: Yung Archetype and Transgressor
7.
8.
LITTLE WAIST
Little Waist is a queercore/transcore band from Brooklyn, New York fronted by multi-instrumentalist Audrey Zee Whitesides that kicks out emotional, catchy punk songs in the vein of bands such as Dinosaur Jr. Her songs, often relating to conflicts of identity and expectations placed upon those occupying specific gender roles, manage to be simultaneously devastating and humorous. “(I Wanna Be a) Dyke Wife,” from their EP Some Kinda Comfort centers its themes of identity and queer domesticity around a head-bobbing new wave riff that will immediately get stuck in your head. Recommended album: Some Kinda Comfort
EZRA FURMAN
Ezra Furman, who identifies as genderfluid, has a raspy voice that threatens to tear apart any track it appears on. His sound harkens back to defining punk musicians such as The Modern Lovers or Violent Femmes, but with an additional shot of energy on even the slowest of songs in his catalogue. Frankly, he could sing over the sound of a weak-lunged man playing a broken tuba and still manage to sound compelling. “Restless Year,” off of his new album Perpetual Motion People is a toe-tapping jaunt about feeling out of place in any and all locations he occupies. Furman is one of the most riveting rock musicians of the past couple of years, and judging by his exuberance will not be slowing down any time soon. Recommended albums: Perpetual Motion People and The Year of No Returnin
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5.
TOLD SLANT
Told Slant is the bedroom recording project of Brooklyn-based musician Felix Walworth. Their trembling vocals echo the sentiments of their alienated, confessional lyrics. The defeatist attitudes present on much of their songs often come through a dark stream-of-consciousness rather than a rapid-fire wit. These songs are consumed by crises. The music’s power comes through an acknowledgment of the aforementioned crises. Walworth sees their discomfort and alienation and instead of ignoring it or analyzing decides to wallow in it. Their singing is as far out of your face as someone’s vocals could get. But in songs such as “Parking Lots,” the fight comes through. Songs bearing dismal themes become so overwhelmed with emotion that their problems are surmounted and a narrative completion is reached. Something about Told Slant’s music is breathtakingly cinematic and deserves your attention. Recommended album: Still Water
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ANTONY AND THE JOHNSONS
4.
Antony Hegarty may have the most throughand-through “beautiful” voice on this list, or any other list for that matter. Its a delicate emotion that elicits immediate heartbreak. Her vibrato has become a trademark. But how recognizable it may sound at this point does not diminish its weight. Her 2005 album I Am a Bird Now brought her much recognition, and for good measure - the album is a haunting portrait of familial bonds and gender dysphoria. At many times bleak and at points defeatedly candid, the work becomes an uplifting cry of power in its final stages. Hegarty makes intimate music that comforts the wounded and ultimately grants them a feeling of autonomy. It’s reassuring and painfully gorgeous. Recommended albums: I Am a Bird Now and The Crying Light
AGAINST ME!
3.
Against Me! is a punk band from Florida fronted by Laura Jane Grace. Their albums are short bursts of ridiculously anthemic songs that contain darkly humorous lyrics referencing both the personal and the political. The accessibility of the band’s anger harkens back to some of the most iconic names in punk. After a public coming out in 2012, followed by the resignation of several of her bandmates (for unrelated reasons), Laura Jane Grace became something of a poster child for the trans* movement (albeit not its spokesperson, to heave the entirety of a movement on a single person or several people is ignorant as all heck). Her deeply personal songs about gender identity on 2014’s Transgender Dysphoria Blues provided for the band’s most impassioned effort to date. And this perceptiveness stretches through the band’s entire discography. Songs like “Thrash Unreal” and “White People for Peace” off of the band’s 2007 album New Wave display Laura Jane Grace’s capacity for barnstorming energy. Against Me! is one of the premier punk groups of the past ten years and only shows signs of improving. Recommended albums: As the Eternal Cowboy, New Wave, and Transgender Dysphoria Blues
MAL BLUM
Mal Blum creates endearing anthems to social anxiety and difficult relationships that demand to stay stuck in your head. If you want to feel connected to other’s self-deprecation through a mutual laugh, go for Mal’s albums. On their more concise songs, you can’t help but recall The Magnetic Fields in terms of misanthropic accessibility. For its singer-songwriter roots, the music has no flair of pretension. Its relatable and always at the level of the listener. Mal understands feeling out of place and heartbreak and all of the other anxious feelings one might get in their 20s. Though the approachable style of these songs does not leave them without a sharp wit. Mal is as receptive as all get out and the lyrics certainly show it, often feeling like a more earnest step from the ironic mannerisms of their anti-folk predecessors. Its a return to honesty without a complete abandonment of sarcasm that steals your heart with every song. Recommended albums: Tempest in a Teacup and Every Time You Go Somewhere
2.
MYKKI BLANCO
1.
Mykki Blanco’s clash of noise and rap makes for a sound unlike many other artists working today. His (currently going by he/him pronouns, has used different pronouns throughout his career) musical influences range from Lil Kim to GG Allin to Kathleen Hanna and the inspiration certainly shows throughout his work. Being a queer musician in an often boringly bigoted world of music tends to require the musician in question to fight for validity, and Blanco is fighting from the start. His intensity demands your attention. He will either dash any notions of simple camp or be as campy as possible if you expect something dull. His albums are exercises in fluidity from a gender perspective as well as a musical perspective and they never let up. Recommended album: Betty Rubble: The Initiation or Cosmic Angel: The Illuminati Prince/Ss
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South Asian Drag Queens Are Often Erased— Until Now • BY KAREEM KHUBCHANDANI •
As a scholar of queer South Asian nightlife and performance, I am regularly asked, “But Kareem, why hasn’t there been a South Asian queen on Drag Race?” Not that RuPaul’s Drag Race has to be the measure of all things drag, but over nine seasons it has helped us take the temperature of a diversity of drag styles across cultures and communities. We’ve witnessed the show shift in trans inclusivity while remaining complicated in its representation of Asian Americans. So why hasn’t there been a South Asian queen? Some reasons include: our cultural references and fashion inspirations aren’t always legible to mainstream audiences (except as “Oh, so exotic!”), some of us don’t have permanent U.S. residency to audition, some of us worry about “log kya kahenge?,” some of us perform at house parties or community events and not necessarily in bars, some of us are not willing to compromise our commitment to local activism for the fame of a TV show, etc. Reasons abound. In the absence of visible South Asians in the recent mainstreaming of drag and trans performance, it’s necessary that we take a second to ask where our queens are, especially when more visible queens constantly appropriate South Asian femme aesthetics: bindis, henna, nose rings, Namaste hands, and multiple arms. There are SO MANY South Asian queens across the world who expand not only our understanding of who a queen is, but what South Asian genders look like. They are punk and Bollywood, burlesque and Broadway, aunties and animé, carnival and club kids. Here’s a sampling of a few queens on the rise.
1.Zeeshan Ali
Also an art school queen, Zeeshan’s fantasy looks are devastatingly beautiful and are unlike any other queen I follow. Zeeshan draws inspiration from and sources materials by shopping in the streets of Bangalore. A former medical student, he enjoys the inspiration and support of his lovely mom in his pursuit of makeup magic.
2.Manghoe Lassi
Toronto’s Manghoe Lassi is just like her namesake drink: thick, tasty, and served best with a side of samosa. This bearded queen, a vettech by day, is padded with hips resembling the subcontinent, and she has developed a signature eye look: heavy black liner, a cut crease all the way in the middle of the forehead, and a dramatic glitter filling.
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3.Lal Batti
Lal Batti lives up to her name, “red light district,” serving all kinds of desi filth, hip thrusts, and bare midriffs. This sensational Bollywood dancer hosts the Yuva queer South Asian parties in New York City, as well as monthly Bingo at Le Poisson Rouge. She’s unmistakable with her signature three dots on the chin.
4.Laila Gulabi
This queen embodies the multicultural confluences of New York as a non-binary, genderfluid, mixed-race, Guyanese, Muslim queen. She paints a sickening bushy Pakistani eyebrow, and can lip-synch in Punjabi, Hindi, Spanish, and English! Talk about a Laila of all trades. This queen does it all.
5.Masala Sapphire
Masala is the host of Trikone-Chicago’s quarterly queer Bollywood party Jai Ho! She sews her own outfits, builds her own wigs, and can serve you everything from Aishwarya Rai to Ariana Grande. Don’t miss her Priyanka Chopra Met Ball look! She’s just about as sweet as she is sickening.
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