Opinion piece
We are currently experiencing an unprecedented cultural phenomenon, dare I say, a nation-sweeping femininomenon. In the past couple months, self proclaimed ‘Midwest Princess’ Chappell Roan has risen to remarkable stardom; she boasts over 20 million monthly listeners on Spotify and has fared unbelievably well on the festival circuit. Although there is much to adore about Roan, her proclivity for performing in drag and writing openly sapphic songs have made her an icon of the LGBTQ+ community, and a top-10-seller at Wax Trax.
Roan is obviously not the first of her kind; she follows in the footsteps of many queer pop predecessors, and shares the spotlight with equally important contemporaries. Artists like Troye Sivan, Lady Gaga, Lil Nas X, and others have allowed their queerness to spill over from being an identity to an artistic theme. Songs about queer love and experience have become household hymns.
We are experiencing another cultural phenomenon, in which the far-right has characterized queer people as a dangerous challenge to puritanical values and blue-blooded Americanism. Drag artists and transgender individuals have been labeled as “pedophiles and groomers.” Education about gender and sexuality is being labeled as “child abuse.” Support continues to grow for conspiracies about the malintent of queer people in public restrooms. Even well-respected historical figures of the LGBTQ+ rights movement such as Harvey Milk have been called “gay pedophiles” by members of congress. Queer access to healthcare hangs in the balance in many bible belt states. Two states have all out banned some drag performances. Last week, the Colorado GOP sent out an inflammatory email: subject line “God Hates Pride” with instructions for GOP supporters to burn pride flags. And yet, Chappell Roan, a bisexual drag queen, soars to the top of the pops. How can these two phenomena exist simultaneously? How, in a society finding itself increasingly enraptured by queer artists, can bigotry so openly rear its macabre head?
In recent times, there has been much discourse about “separating the art from the artist.” This sentiment seems to come in handy mostly to the white man with a shameful past. But this is something consumers have been doing for nearly a century. The soar in popularity of Black music in the 20th century is entirely disproportionate to the advocacy for its makers. Imagine the world we would live in if every jazz lover, rap connoisseur, soul soldier, disco diva, (this list could go on indefinitely…) championed the artists as much as the art. Instead, we have largely chosen to ignore the artist and their plight entirely. We separate art from the artist when it is convenient for us. It is much easier to let a powerful man wriggle out of accountability than it is to pull marginalized artists up to a place of power. Apathy has subdued certain consumers into an ironic relationship with Black artists; adoration of the art with an ugly coolness towards the creator.
Similarly, queer art and music does not exist in a void. It exists in the context of the struggle and oppression, as well as the joy and celebration of queer identities. If we love Chappell Roan as an artist, we owe it to her to love all of her. If we love that she performs in drag, we must vehemently defend her right to do so. If we love the songs she writes about sapphic lovers, we owe her the preservation of the sapphic experience. Although we find ourselves stuck in conversations about the ethics of streaming services, live music monopolies, and the complexities of major labels, we must first start by ensuring an artist’s right to exist.
There is no queer art without queer experience. This pride month, I encourage you to fight as hard for the rights of queer people as you dance to their music.
0 comments