DIVA speaks to a number of rising queer artists about the healing power of music
BY VICTORIA POLSELY, IMAGES PROVIDED
Growing up, music was my saviour. I knew from an early age that I was queer but I was in a conservative family and area that did not accept me for who I was. I turned to various musicians, artists and performers for solace, finding comfort and acceptance in their ability to be their own genuine selves. For example, Lady Gaga and her unique aesthetic and unapologetic queer anthems helped me find my own freak inside me and not hide.
Fast forward 10 years and I am a journalist, writing about the music that helps me cope every day. After a series of interviews, I realised there are so many young and rising talented artists who use their own creative outlets to deal with homophobia and come to terms with being gay, embracing their true selves and inspiring others in the process. I spoke with some of these artists about their own coming out stories and on how creating music has helped them over the years.
Heather Mae is a Nashville-based and award-winning singer-songwriter and activist. Her music often touches upon queer themes. Her journey is rich in obstacles along the way, being raised in a religious background where she was told it was not ok to love who she loved. She shares her story. “I didn’t know I was queer until I was 25. It’s still really hard to talk about, even now, almost 20 years since walking away from that life. Growing up in the evangelical Christian Church and the purity movement, being queer was just not an option. I was kissing girls my entire life but in my mind, it was just“practising” for my future husband. I’ve been making music since I was 21 and most of my career has been spent making social justice pop music. But I only just recently stopped trying to be a “good girl”. That’s what they want us to be: good, pure, clean, pretty. I had no idea those thoughts were still wrapped around the way I thought about myself, my path, theway I viewed the kind of artist, woman, or person I was ‘allowed’ to be. That’s how indoctrination works. These days I don’t constantly ask for permission or look for a higher power or person for approval. And this freedom has led me to working with who I wanna work with, making the best music I’ve ever made, producing my own record, moving to Nashville, loving loudly, experiencing true freedom in the way that I dress and identify. I’ve lived the majority of my life terrified that I would be reprimanded by someone (anyone) and now…I am my own.”
Boy Jr. (they/them) is a wildly creative songwriter and viral LGBTQIA influencer. Their music has racked up millions of plays and they have a dedicated social media following where they share their comical yet poignant stories and views on everything from being nonbinary to being in a queer relationship. They confide, “Growing up and getting into music I don’t think there was the same kind of visible expansiveness when it comes to gender expression and experience that there is now. I got into alt-rock and pop when I was a little older and making my own music and felt really locked into the limitations of being a ‘female artist’. I wanted to play around with glam gender performances like Prince and David Bowie AND be a cool weirdo like Karen O or Julian Casablancas. And I still feel like there are expectations on artists to pick one lane and make it their whole singular marketable aspect today too. What I want to be today is really informed by what I didn’t know existed as options as a younger person. You can get queer and expansive with gender, you can get queer and expansive with music genres. And I love using songwriting and production as a vehicle for that kind ofexploration and expression. I feel like I’m finally able to be the kind of artist I would’ve wanted and needed when I was younger.”
Camille Schmidt is a Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter who is quickly making waves with her folk-drenched indie pop. Her music has been added to popular Spotify playlists and the artist often writes about heartbreak, grief and coming into her own as a queer woman. She shares, “When I was eight years old I thought I might be gay and asked my mom if I was. She said ‘Absolutely not, don’t worry about that.’ We live in a world where there aren’t a lot of third spaces. Music has always been a third space for me. In high school, during lunch, I would go to this room that no one really used. There was a piano. I’d eat my lunch and write songs. Music was something I did in private for a long time. And I feel lucky to have had it. I’m pretty confident it’s saved my life. For many years it was one of the only places I could go to feel the things I didn’t think were okay to feel around other people. Like rage. Or chaotic joy. Or sadness. Or queerness. Or shame. Sometimes I think of shame as an object, like a tall dark obelisk. If you shine light only on one side of an obelisk, it casts a long menacing shadow. But if you shine light all over, noon-sun style, bird’s eye view style, the shadow completely disappears. Then it’s just light. And shame is a bit like that. Bring it into the light, the full light, and suddenly you’re free of it.”
Lucy & La Mer is a bisexual activist and singer-songwriter who has performed at Pride events all around the world. Her music touches millions and she has been open about her own coming out story as a bisexual woman. She shares, “Growing up in a small conservative town as a closeted bisexual teenager came with a unique set of challenges that stifled both my personal growth and creative expression. And like many bi+ folks, I didn’t even know that being ‘bi’ was a valid identity until I moved to a city. I gaslighted myself into thinking I was ‘confused’ and ‘rebellious’. Being gay wasn’t acceptable in a largely Christian town, and being bi wasn’t even heard of. While I was very lucky to be in a safe and loving family, the community message was that Jesus only loves you if you’re straight. You couldn’t be open about who you were, and that constant need to hide a huge part of yourself created a lot of stress and loneliness. I had a crush on the drummer in my youth group band – she was undoubtedly the reason I showed up every Sunday. Then, one day she was passing out Anti-Marriage Equality fliers and I just stopped attending. I didn’t emotionally process the shame I felt until much later, and I decided to rewrite the negative experience of realising that I was queer in a much more positive, uplifting song called Blue Dress. This internal struggle took a serious toll on my creativity at the time. Instead of drawing from my true feelings and experiences, I played it safe, sticking to themes and ideas that I knew wouldn’t raise eyebrows. But now, my candid lyrics about my attractions are actually healing me, and when I get to sing my songs to crowds, it’s like I’m validating that younger version of myself. It’s like I’m singing to the scared and confused kid and affirming who I am and who she was. And my music, which is very Bi+ specific, is constantly and wonderfully connecting me to others who have experienced the same struggles and challenges.”
ROREY is a rising indie rock artist whose music has received critical acclaim. She is open not only about her queerness but also her own mental health struggles including battling bipolar disorder. Her music acts as a way of expression not only for herself but for others. She shares her story, “I grew up in a modern orthodox community. Even though my mom had queer friends, I still grew up with the belief that sex between two men was a sin and same-sex relationships were unnatural. I started to develop romantic feelings for my best friend when I was 21. We had somewhat of a homoerotic relationship that quickly became non-platonic (for me at least). Texts of superfluous declarations of admiration were exchanged daily for a year, that is until I confessed my feelings in October 2021 and she ghosted me. My entire EP Apt 7D is about that first rejection by a woman. Honestly, I never felt like I ‘came out’. Everyone knew for certain before methat I was in love with her because I wrote an embarrassing amount of songs going back and forth on whether my feelings were romantic. In March 2021 I wrote an unreleased song called I Think I’m In Love With You and at that point I could no longer deny my feelings. My subconscious was screaming at me, but just because I knew how I felt didn’t mean I knew what to do with those feelings, so they lived in my songs. It wasn’t until the fall of 2021 that I began to explore a physically intimate relationship with another friend, during which time I wrote songs expressing and processing my sexual attraction. I didn’t act on my sexuality until very recently. Sex with a woman felt daunting and unfathomable. Girls make me nervous. I got lucky enough to meet someone who made me feel extremely safe to fully act on my sexuality. Throughout my entire journey to arrive here (at self-acceptance) I continued to write songs about the women I’ve had feelings for. My songs are my solace and reprieve. My songs are where I get to dump all of my feelings to examine later. My songs are a direct relation.”
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