Something About Space, Dude: An Auto-Ethnographic Study On Queer Identity Formation

Department of Women, Gender, & Sexuality Studies

WGSS 601- Seminar in Women, Gender, & Sexuality Studies

Dr. Jeanne Vaccaro

Jojo Katsbulas

May 1, 2023

Ray Bull, I Wanna Be Your Car

Embarrassingly enough, I have only ever been to a gay bar once. To be frank, going to bars in general is not my scene, but that is not to say I don’t go out. This one gay bar – that I barely spent half an hour at – set the scene for my transition in academia from speech, language, and hearing science to women, gender and sexuality studies. Hesitant to pursue this change at first, overwhelmed by the notion that this degree would not launch a career, I lept heart first. After only studying in this field for a single year, I already find more fulfillment, more passion, more drive. I decide what I become, and if I Wanna Be Your Car, I will be.

Prince, New Power Generation

Shortly after declaring my second major in the spring of 2022, I traveled to Minneapolis, Minnesota for a concert at the historic First Avenue venue – a venue frequented and favored by the one and only Prince. My hotel was just one block away from this venue and was directly across the street from Gay 90’s: the first and only gay bar I have ever been to. Opened in 1957 for straight people looking to drink and dine, it merged with the gay bar, Happy Hour, next door in 1976. Gay 90’s is rich in history from the queer liberation movement and subsequent pride celebrations. Spending even a fragment of time in this bar engulfed my physical and emotional body in queer culture. From nightlife fashion, to subtle cruising gestures and expressions, to the music that soundtracks the night; gay bars are a space unlike any other: fostering minority communities, making a home away from home, and creating a consistent identity amongst queer people and the media they consume. 

Though I was quick to leave (my social anxiety, especially on a solo trip, made new experiences and environments like this one much more intense), I felt inspired by the community I could feel coming to life in that bar. Within the past two decades queer equality has progressed rapidly, and fortunately so; however, that is not to say that our minority demographic does not still face significant oppressions. At the time of writing, our community is facing discriminatory and exclusionary bills on an almost weekly basis – with gender-affirming care for minors being banned in Kansas just last month (Hanna, 2023). More so, massacres and targeted violence – both physical and emotional – are unsurprisingly aimed at queer communities: from mass shootings at gay bars (see: Club Q, Colorado Springs, Colorado), to missing trans youth (see: Nikki Kuhnhausen, Vancouver, Washington), to discriminatory prison housing (see: Nikita Dragun, Miami Beach, Florida). These examples are only the tip of the iceberg, as they are the highly publicized ones. But it appears we are the New Power Generation, and we are fighting eradication. Every day members of our community go missing, are assaulted, or are killed solely because of their identities. The oppressions that our community is forced to combat make having these communal safe spaces that much more critical.

Jessie Ware, What’s Your Pleasure?

Feeling ever so inspired (though admittedly quite disappointed in myself for not staying at the bar longer), the following day I sought out to compare my firsthand experience with others. I perused local bookshops, not finding much of what I was looking for. Eventually, I ended up at the Barnes & Noble in the Mall of America. It was there that I came across Gay Bar: Why We Went Out by Jeremy Atherton Lin. After flipping through the pages in the store, I realized this book was exactly what I was searching for. I quickly bought it, started the journey back to the hotel, detouring instead, down to the Mississippi River where I sat and read until it got dark. Lin phenomenally executes the intermingling of his own experience at gay bars with his partner’s experiences and with other experiences of queers they met along the way. He explores seven gay bars across the globe, focusing on a different narrative and theme for each. What connected me further with this book was the fact that Lin was similarly anxious, similarly shy, and similarly curious about the nuances of queer culture. Unfortunately, I did not read enough to reignite my confidence to head back to the bar that night. Instead, I perched in my hotel room, continued reading, and eventually called my gay mentor – my queer mother, if you will: Alyx. I pelted Alyx with question after question about their experience in gay bars, at drag shows, and at pride events. The call ended with a plan to go see a drag show when I arrived back in Kansas. 

Although I am more focused on the consistency that queer bars create amongst their clientele, I cannot stress enough that this consistency is experienced amongst a wide spectrum of varying identities. Specifically, I identify as a genderqueer gay man (paradoxical, I know) that presents masculinely; Alyx is a transgender woman. Our queer embodiments are entirely different, but our culture is widely the same. Our music tastes, though different, are inspired by similar sounds and artists. Our styles, though different, are founded on the queers that came before us. And, in the words of queer icon Lady Gaga, we are our hair. 

Gaga’s music makes its appearance in queer clubs often. Gay bars are notorious for having a selection of artists that nearly all queer people are somehow familiar with; Obvious big names like Lady Gaga, Prince, and Beyonce, but similar knowledge and tight-knit fan bases exist for ‘lesser-known’ artists like SOPHIE, Jake Wesley Rogers, and Jessie Ware. What creates this inherent connection between queer people and bodies of music? Is it word of mouth spreading through the queer community? Is it queer spaces like Gay 90’s that foster a communal identity? Is it the artists themselves that create spaces in which queers feel seen, heard, and welcomed? As Jessie Ware’s 2020 album asks, What’s Your Pleasure?

To achieve an answer to these questions I am looking towards the people who occupy these spaces. By analyzing the groundwork in this field, connecting with DJ’s and staff at queer-frequented bars, and through visiting these sites myself, I am hopeful to create a deeper connection between myself, queer nightlife, and my queer ancestors, while simultaneously bringing light to a community that comes to life in the darkness. The queer identity would be remiss with the omission of the work of our predecessors, precisely my reasoning for conducting a review of the literature and interviewing participants of queer nightlife from a variety of ages. I am intrigued by what allows a bar to label itself as a gay bar – bars frequented by queers are just as, if not more, qualified to be labeled as such. So, what is it that attracts queers to these specific bars? From the environment, to the music, to the clients, this project seeks to bring queer nightlife out of the closet. 

Meshell Ndegeocello, Leviticus: Faggot

While all cultures pose highly-specific and nuanced lifestyles and norms, queer culture is unique in that it attempts to subvert any standards; After all, queer was originally defined as just that: odd, abnormal, subversive, and alternative. We see this in many facets of life, such as subverting homophobic religious oppressions many queer people grow up believing – like musician Meshell Ndegeocello on their song Leviticus: Faggot. I, too, resist the religious bias I grew up with in a similar way: Leviticus, 20:13 tattooed above my ass – “If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them.”

As mentioned in the preface, the queer identity could not exist in its current form without the work of our queer predecessors, who would change reality for generations to come. Omitting the work and research of queer historians has become a topic of hot debate amongst queer academics. While not all literature within this section is created by queers and queer historians, all of the included literature is specifically queer focused. This literature review is included for two purposes: 

1. To combat the frequent omission of queer history in research, and
2. To provide a solid foundation on which to base the current study. 

Often cited in academia on queer nightlife is Fiona Buckland’s Impossible Dance: Improvised Social Dancing As Queer Worldmaking, a dissertation on queer clubs and embodiment in New York City. Chapter 3, The Order of Play: Using Music, Space, Dance, and the Ideas of the Body, of the 364-page dissertation delves into how the components of a club assist in the embodiment of queerness, specifically, the notable genres played across environments, how remixing progresses embodiment, and the connection between music and queerness. Buckland specifies garage, hard-house, and hi-NRG as being played consistently at different clubs across New York (134). These genres, she notes, are inspired by and reminiscent of previously popular queer music, such as the disco of the 70’s, as well as the subversive punk genre during the 90’s. She congratulates the technicality of DJ’s talent for mixing song transitions seamlessly, allowing for the crowd to adjust dancing tempos with ease. Buckland reflects, “Repetition and variation in movement offered security, novelty, and the opportunity for exchange and empowerment,” (157). Repetition and variation, variables that are subversive to the norm, allow queers a sense of security where there is danger in existing in the minority; Offering novelty, similar to the identity that is Queer; Offering opportunity for empowerment, escaping the oppressions that surrounds our communal identity. 

Does music assist in the creation of communal identity? Does oppression? In determining what factors of queer nightlife contribute to identity formation, we must look back towards the beginnings of queer nightlife. Much scholarship focuses on the contributions of disco to queer identities, creating a gap surrounding the contributions of hip hop – a genre that is potentially more prevalent in current nightlife and is similarly rich in queer history. Lauron Koher’s 2022 book, Queer Voices in Hip Hop discusses the erasure of this queerness. Its first chapter, Hip Hop’s Queer Roots – Disco, House, and Early Hip Hop, she challenges the notion that hip hop is homophobic by comparing the overlapping histories of these three genres. Koher navigates the timeline across attitudes towards queers, where disco emerged from black and queer spaces, was popularized, before being forced back into the underground scene. It is here that disco transformed house music – again at the hands of DJ’s, disco music would soon merge seamlessly with house music, increasing tempos, merging rhythms, and creating hip hop music by and for Black Queers (28-31). The intersection of Blackness and Queerness is of critical importance in this scenario. The subjugation and oppression of these minority demographics created the need for their safe space, where blackness and queerness could and should be expressed. Consistent with the legal history of queerness, queer music history was also led by Black, Queer individuals. The whitewashing of this history only regresses our communal attempt for progression and equality.

Contemporary music that is popular among queers is no longer underground, but is mainstream and often marketed directly by the artist to queers. These artists, sometimes part of the community and sometimes allies, stand alongside queers in the fight for queer equality. Stan  (a fitting first name, as hardcore fans in the modern age are called ‘Stans’ in reference to Eminem’s 2000 song of the same name) Hawkins’ 2016 book, Queerness in Pop Music identifies a selection of modern pop artists that contribute to the queer community. Chapter four focuses on Lady Gaga, an icon amongst queers since her breakout into the music scene in 2009. Hawkins attributes this immediate icon status to Gaga’s alternative nature, camp aesthetic, and subversive performances. Gaga celebrates her differences from other artists, a theme similarly reflected within the queer community. Hawkins additionally cites Nicki Minaj as an artist that expresses camp aesthetics, has become a part of the queer community, and who stands up to racism, misogyny, and homophobia (Hawkins 2015). Though different in genre, both Gaga and Minaj fostered a relationship with the queer community because of their campness, their willingness to stand up against norms, and through their intentionally crafted music. Gaga, whose voice ranges from hyper-feminine to masculine, and Minaj, whose rap career changed the future of women in rap.

Building upon the foundation that Buckland’s Impossible Dance laid for queer autoethnography, Stacy Jones and Tony Adams’ Autoethnography is a Queer Method was vital in influencing how I will report my data. Jones & Adams applaud autoethnography’s queerness – that is to say, it’s innate ability to subvert traditional research norms. Applying a queer research method to synthesize conducting queer research will only benefit the project. Furthermore, autoethnography grounds research in everyday life, makes it accessible, understandable, and is reliant on our own perceptions. This chapter suggests we, as researchers, unhinge from ‘linear narrative deployment’ and instead create work that is self-reflexive, and redirective to the self as the “subaltern of knowledge” (200). I will employ autoethnography thrice throughout this research. The first, my preface, introduced you to myself as a researcher and introduced you to the study at hand. The second, directly follows this literature review, and details how music impacts my own life and identity. The final section of autoethnography will bookend the data analysis section, describing and analyzing my experience within the very bars I am studying. 

While four pieces of scholarship are not indicative of a full background, they do provide a basis to begin the present study. These, in addition to Gay Bar – Why We Went Out by Jeremy Atherton Lin (a narrative analysis of gay bars across the globe and their implications on queer identity formation and liberation), connect the environment of a queer bar to the oppressive history of queers. Queer bars allow a space for queers to demonstrate resilience, to stand strong with their community, and to experience freedom. The music played in these spaces creates a utopia, inspires confidence in subverting norms, and inspires collective identity formation.

Ethel Cain, Preacher’s Daughter

Before presenting the study at hand, it becomes vital to identify myself as the researcher and expose my history in the field. As mentioned in the preface, I do not have much experience within club scenes, and even less within queer club scenes; however, my queerness in relation to music has existed since my early youth. My father, a straight white man, is also a massive Eminem fan, meaning I was exposed to the song Stan early in my childhood. The song details a fan that is so obsessed with Eminem he ends up committing suicide after Eminem neglects his attempts to reach out. Listening to the song as a child, I had no idea Stan would become part of my daily vocabulary in my transition to adulthood. Exposed to only the music around me, I would grow up stan-ing a set of specific artists: Eminem and Lady Gaga (from my father), Nicki Minaj and Beyonce (from my sister), and Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston (from my mother) – all artists now relevant to queer culture. 

My obsession deepened when I began attending concerts, namely Miley Cyrus’ Bangerz World Tour in 2014, Kesha’s Rainbow Tour in 2017, and Poppy’s Poppy.Computer Tour in early 2018. At these concerts sexuality was openly expressed, pride flags were waved, and the fashion was formed around the music and dancing that would occur. It was the Bangerz World Tour where I first recognized and understood the concept of camp, as Miley Cyrus rode around the venue on a giant inflatable hot dog, singing about her ex. It was Kesha’s song Rainbow that inspired me to continue battling against suicidal ideation. And it was Poppy, whose ominous YouTube videos and cult-like electronic performances taught me it’s perfectly acceptable to exist within an alternative identity. Before fully understanding my own identity, I was already connected with artists that my queer peers were also independently connecting with. Is the correlation between music and queerness simply that of the alternative, the subversive, and the abnormal?

Today, I find myself attracted to just that: SOPHIE’s Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides – a innovative hyperpop project with a cult following of queers; Beyonce’s Renaissance – her only album directly inspired by, and dedicated to, queer music history; and Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter – a melancholic concept album detailing the trans artist’s religious trauma in growing up in the midwest. These albums are all entirely different in genre, different in artistry, different in lyricism and melody, but share one commonality: catharsis-induced alternative liberation. 

Ethel Cain’s, 2022 album, Preacher’s Daughter, is the most recent piece of music I mention in this paper. Being released just under a year ago, this album immediately found its home with queer audiences. The album provides a narrative of undergoing trauma through religion, facing familial disapproval, and the impact this imposes on personal relationships. With a stark contrast of lyrical tone to its backing music, the album presents itself perfectly for those with identities that are misunderstood in their typical environment: Queers in the midwest. Preacher’s Daughter validates these identities and attempts to transcend the memories of trauma in queer youth into tactile, emotional, liberating experiences. 

Kesha, Tonight [Chance Romance]

To determine how music and nightlife spaces form identities I conducted interviews with queer musicians and performers in Lawrence, Kansas. To enhance these interviews, I visited the bars that my participants frequently perform at to conduct participant observation on the customers and staff on a weekend night. 

The interviews were freeform, allowing guests to speak of their experiences however they felt most comfortable. I provided guiding questions at the beginnings, ends, and during lulls of each interview. The questions that were consistent across interviews are as follows:

1. Before our interview, I had you fill out a brief survey about some of your favorite music, could you tell me a little more about your choices?
2. Did the media you consumed growing up impact your identity? How?
3. What has your career journey been? How did you arrive at the position you fulfill now?
4. How does your identity impact your art/performances?
5. Have you noticed a change in the audience/audience feelings in the wake of oppressive anti-queer bills, queer targeted violence, or mass shootings? Can you tell me about the time or event that this type of oppression first hit you?

Aside from these questions, participants discussed many facets of identity, autonomy, and musicianship. Participants are as follows: Sav Mangelsdorf (Horned Wolf, Vocalist), David Zey (Horned Wolf, Percussionist), Sarah Leonard (Horned Wolf, Booking & Sales),  Miles Luce (Miles Luce & The Cowtippers), Chance Romance (DJ, Drag Performer), Austen Romstedt (Founder/DJ, Toilet Bowl). Participants cross a variety of ages, gender identities, and sexualities; however, 100% of participants are white. Recognizing that the erasure and exclusion of black perspectives in research is an ongoing problem, I feel discomforted to be part of the issue. Three participants of racial minorities were asked to participate but declined or omitted any participation. 

Each participant was asked to submit a pre-interview survey that consisted of the following questions. This submission was used to determine musical associations with queerness, and prompted the creation of the collective participants playlist. 

1. Media that prepares you for a night at work:
2. Media that prepares you for a night out with friends:
3. Media that should be on any DJ’s set:
4. Media that makes you want to dance or move:
5. Media that makes you want to sing or rap:
6. Media that inspired your queerness growing up:
7. Media that evokes freedom, liberation: 
8. Media that evokes resilience: 
9. Media that evokes queer pride:
10. Media that evokes autonomy:

Channeling Chance Romance and Kesha when she sang, “Bitch, we’re going out tonight,” I conducted participant observation at three sites, where my participants frequently perform: Replay Lounge, Henry’s Upstairs, and Jazzhaus – each on a weekend evening between 10pm-12am. Specifically, I was seeking to find which demographics occur at each bar, if and how music impacts the bar’s customers, and the level of engagement between customers. Additionally, I was curious to see if responses from the pre-interview survey would appear at any of these locations. Here, it is important to note that Henry’s Upstairs is the only gay bar in Lawrence; the other sites, though, are frequented by queers and host queer-themed nights. 

Kittie, Brackish [Sarah Leonard]

The most significant theme that developed across interviews was the impact of family members and nostalgia on musical interests. Familial impact or the impact of the participants “roots” were mentioned in five of six interviews, it affects myself similarly. Whether in the character of their performances or in the mixing of their sets, families critically shaped each individual. 

All three interviewees from the Horned Wolf performers discussed their family, specifically their sisters, impacting the music they listened to. Sav, who is non-binary, and Sarah, who is female, both discussed how their sisters introduced them to metal in their early teens by making fun of it, regarding it as “not real” music. But hearing metal performed by female voices changed their outlook, allowing them to see themselves in that very position. Kittie and Otep were major inspirations in their ability to defy the norms that are typically pushed upon them, with Sarah saying that Brackish by Kittie makes them feel invincible. David Zey, the percussionist who doesn’t identify with a gender, similarly discusses Madonna and Metallica as inspirations to be confident in presenting your truest self. These musical inspirations are not musicians the interviewees frequently listen to now, but rather were influential on their development and only get the occasional spin presently. 

DJ Chance Romance, who performs in drag around Lawrence and Kansas City, finds the music they often play – on the day to day or in sets – inspired by music they listened to growing up. Chance says. “Throwbacks and nods to the past are great at helping audiences bond over shared experiences. My taste has evolved, but the roots are still there.” Again, the feelings of nostalgia are present. Creating a shared identity based on a shared or similar experience helps to bond the communities that gather in these spaces. 

Personally, the music I listened to growing up does not get as many spins now either, but each lyric and melody conjures a specific moment from my past. From my Tata introducing me to the art of vinyl and gifting the first record of my collection: Rancheras de Relajo by Antonio Aguilar, to my older sister introducing me to the idea that sexuality and love exist on the same spectrum with Kesha’s The Harold Song, my family members were vital in shaping the music I enjoy, which I now use as a means to express my queerness with friends, with partners, and with family. 

Miles Luce, nonbinary musician who also performs around Lawrence and Kansas City, feels inspired by bands they listened to growing up. “When I was a kid, I listened to Wilco… I knew all the songs… It’s kinda like a nostalgia thing… I went to a private school and my dad was a teacher there… There is something in the midwest and something about being here that’s interesting…” continuing on to discuss listening to the band with their dad as Wilco’s genre shifted from country to contemporary rock. Miles’ persona is not made for their dad, but rather, was inspired by the music they listened to together. Miles emphasizes that their take on country music is different than others’ though; focusing not on patriotism and beer, but instead on storytelling. Straying from typical popular country music, Miles queers the genre. Furthermore, Miles is not just a country artist, but plays in two punk bands as well. Being confined to a boundary or singular label is not common amongst queers. Blurring the lines between genre, between expectation and reality, being queer empowers people to explore all facets of their being. 

Miles Luce, Nashville Catch

Another theme that appeared across interviews was the idea of presenting a heightened version of oneself while performing: allowing music to expose and express one’s identity. This exact process occurs to me and to all interviewees. I do not perform in the same capacities as my participants, but the sentiment is identical. 

Miles mentioned how they do not care how many people are in the crowd: “You can kinda thrash around and be crazy, you are afforded a space where you can express yourself in a way that maybe you can’t in ‘social interactions.’” Focusing more on how they feel while performing, Miles emphasized that they perform to have fun, not to get famous. They write songs to express their emotions, not necessarily to relate to others. But Miles also recognizes that songs have their own characters, allowing themself to play into and perform their character, like on Nashville Catch where Miles purposefully leans into the stereotypical country persona. They sport a cowboy hat to perform and give a character to the music, wearing it outside the venue to display their connection to their artistry, but making a careful effort not to collapse their identity with their music.

This is similarly reflected in David and Sav’s aforementioned interviews. Listening to and performing with a metal band allows them an alternative space to express themselves freely. They both mentioned negative experiences having grown up in the midwest, with Sav going so far as to say, “I just got shit on, metal is not cool or welcomed.” But once they experienced being in the metal scene – attending concerts or performing – their expression was encouraged. Sav continued, saying “I used to have a wicked anger problem… but now I have an avenue for it… it’s just like a side of me that I can bring out in the right spaces.” David Zey agrees, saying “I am putting on my game face, and it’s not like that’s not me… I am presenting myself.” Performing allows members of the band to present any and all parts of themself to the audience, having full autonomy of their own perception. 

On the opposite side of the spectrum, while still displaying a similar sentiment, are Austen and Chance, the DJ who founded Toilet Bowl, and a DJ/Drag Artist, respectively. Chance shifted from performing under a pseudonym, to now performing as themself, “I try to keep my identity the same in and out performing, DJing is just an extension of my personality with a display of my talents. I tried having a pseudonym when I first started, but I just like introducing myself as Chance too much to stop.” Chance does not see their performance as a character, or as a heightened version of themself, just, themself. Similarly, Austen, founder of underground queer performance venue, Toilet Bowl, DJ’s as himself: “I try to carry my own identity and history through my DJing, because the only thing that really separates one DJ from another is just by being your own individual. My style and music choices are simply a byproduct of my music taste, the artists and DJs I respect and admire, and my own identity.” Both artists, who perform for majority queer audiences, do not feel the need to add a layer to themselves when performing. When asked about how the audience impacts their sets, they both agreed that they want the audience to have a good time, but want to enjoy themselves as performers first. 

While it was not possible to derive a nostalgic or familial theme from participant observation, I was able to find themes of free expression across the bars I visited. Customers at each location were impacted by the music playing and the number of other customers engaged. Songs that were well known facilitated dancing, yelling, singing, and kissing at each location, but especially at Henry’s. At Replay, which is separated into an indoor bar and outdoor patio, I found the audience drifting back and forth between areas as the DJs or performers changed songs, impacting the vibe of each room. At Jazzhouse I found that customers were not staying for long, but appeared to enjoy the general environment by dancing and singing throughout their time inside. 

Clip, Fall Back [Austen Rhomstedt] 

Measuring escapism through participant observation is a difficult task, as I cannot assume who is in the bars to escape. However, amidst ongoing anti-queer legislation I did not hear any participants at any site bring up these topics. Participants were focused on dancing, having fun, and, if I named the feeling myself: escaping the nuances of daily life. 

As mentioned before, Austen founded Toilet Bowl, “It started as just a little thing we had talked about doing… just a way to create the kind of space I was always looking for but never found. Raw, self-sustaining, communal, queer, and always changing and morphing into new things.” Lawrence acts as a safe haven in Kansas for queers, but fails to provide specific queer safe spaces. Austen recognized this lack and sought out to create this very space. Austen continues on, “the system we are forced to exist within was not built for me or to protect me, and that’s why it’s so important to protect the people around me and give them spaces to freely express themselves without fear of violence.” Austen digs deep here, reflecting on the Pulse massacre in Orlando, Florida. He recognizes that could have just as easily been him, while emphasizing that this issue is specifically why these venues exist: to provide a space free from oppressions, free from outside judgments, and free of expectations. Austen provides a space for local queers to Fall Back into. 

Sarah’s perspective is influenced by her motherhood and the very same event – the Pulse massacre. Sarah’s two children are male (afab) and non-binary, and she fears for their safety at the concerts they attend and even at school. She mentions how her kids are forced to see the hate directed towards them saying, “Westboro is actually.. What opened my eyes to how much hate there is… they came and protested at my school because one of our students, who was gay, got murdered, they protested his funeral, they came to the Catholic church I was going to at the time… Just seeing people screaming at everyone…” She has experienced seeing hateful rhetoric spewed at herself, at her peers, and now she fears, at her children. Sarah is grateful to the Horned Wolf for providing a space for her children to escape all the noise, and freely express themselves. 

Echoing the idea of disregarding the audience from themself earlier, Miles still believes that their sets provide a space for people to escape from the outside world. “I played a show at Farewell recently, and, at one point it was completely silent, and I was playing solo so it created, like, an atmosphere, and I left feeling completely happy.” Instead of making music that facilitates escape, Miles creates a space that allows the audience to facilitate their own escape. As Miles would say, they are simply the conduit.

Madonna, Bitch, I’m Madonna [David Zey]

Three themes made themselves known: nostalgic inspiration, personified characterization, and queer escapism. Music plays a key role in each of them, contributing to identity formation, self-serving performance, and creation of an environment. Each of these themes and factors contribute to individualized queer conceptions of self. Music plays a critical role within these conceptions, influencing queer bodies inside and out. It matters not who we present, it matters how we present; all my interviewees can relate to Madonna’s confident self-characterization when she says, Bitch, I’m Madonna. 

Music speaks: To myself, to you, to our sisters and brothers, family, and friends. It speaks with small differences in intonation and meaning to each of us. From Kesha to Clip and from Wilco to Otep, we find that taste and meaning are subjective, but impact is objective. Music of differing genres cast and mold our bodies and senses, shaping our ability to present exactly who we want our audience to perceive. We see this in Sav, who, after seeing women represented in metal, was inspired to pursue it themself. In Miles, a conservative father who listens to country provides enough nostalgia for them to lean more country than punk. And in Austen, who mixes carefully crafted sets to provide a space for queers to escape from the horrifying oppressions and general bore of daily life. The content-matter of the music is irrelevant, but the feeling the audience receives is what’s critical. 

The feeling of free expression and absolute autonomy is front and center in these spaces. Bars, regardless of whether they claim queerness are not, provide spaces for the marginalized to freely exist and socialize; these spaces allow identities to transform and come to life. The identities occupying these spaces queer these bars, making them underground venues for communication and collaboration between local queer identities. Gay bars, queer clubs, and queer people exist outside of their labels, as embodied personas day in and day out, between changing environments, and in the face of radical disenfranchisement.

So, where do I fall now, having spoken to the creators of these spaces and having been an active participant myself? 

SOPHIE, Whole New World/Pretend World

The time I spent working on this project this semester totally altered my view of queer nightlife. Jeremy Lin’s Gay Bar opened my eyes, but getting firsthand accounts from my peers, my coworkers, my classmates, gave me a deep appreciation for these spaces and their inhabitants. I can now see myself in these spaces, not feeling anxious, but feeling liberated: a freedom that only certain environments can conjure. Like my participants, I too, enjoy controlling how my body and my queerness is perceived, but allowing myself to experiment in an environment meant for that exact purpose has the potential to allow an even deeper embodiment.  

I find myself feeling this embodiment with my friends in the car and alone in the shower, both spaces where the environment prompts music, prompting expression. Prior to this project I may have thought that this expression can only be positive, dancing and shouting lyrics, but my participants influenced my realization that music does so much more. Music facilitates storytelling, an avenue to express one’s deepest and darkest emotions. Music provides an outlet to express forcefully, where it’s otherwise frowned upon. Music encourages camp, telling artists and audiences to lean in, to get into it, to perform. 

I have always participated in both forms of this expression, I simply failed to realize it. Whether its somber ballads or empowering anthems, the full spectrum of music impacts my queerness; with many of my favorite queer artists choosing to highlight the dichotomy between melody and lyricism. And I lean in. I jump to sad songs, cry to happy ones, and allow my own interpretations of music to be the ones I let influence me. 

SOPHIE’s Whole New World/Pretend World reflects this sentiment to me, juxtaposing romantic lyrics against harsh instrumentation. Much like the bars I have researched, a stereotypically harsh environment can and does aid the progression of our minority demographic. A space, typically understood as one for degenerates, alcoholics, and whores, realizes the power of the actual demographics that inhibit it. The transfer of information and identity performance from queer to queer changes degeneracy into enlightenment.

I feel enlightened. 

Occupying these spaces liberated my identity and embodied my presence.  

Miley Cyrus, Something About Space Dude

Finally, we arrive at my identity formation playlist. Like the one I made for my participants, this playlist captures the essence of my queerness. Critically acclaimed and generally unknown, my queerness is non-binary, it blurs the lines, and bends genders, it is here nor there, and it is everywhere all at once. My queerness is a faggot, it’s broken, it is hurtful, it’s mended, and it is reclaimed. My queerness is my own: it belongs to my sisters, to my friends, to my exes, and to the participants’ of this study. My queerness is shaped by each person I come across and each environment I inhabit, my queerness is Something About Space Dude.

Citations

Browne, K., Nash, C. J., Jones, S., & Adams, T. (2010). Chapter 12 – Autoethnography is a Queer Method. In Queer methods and methodologies intersecting Queer Theories and Social Science Research (pp. 195–214). essay, Routledge. 

Buckland, F. N. (1999). Impossible dance: Improvised social dancing as queer worldmaking (Order No. 9945254). Available from ProQuest Dissertations & Theses Global. (304516680). Retrieved from https://www2.lib.ku.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/dissertations-theses/impossible-dance-improvised-social-dancing-as/docview/304516680/se-2 

Hanna, J. (2023, April 7). Kansas approves bill to end gender-affirming care for minors. AP NEWS. Retrieved April 29, 2023, from https://apnews.com/article/transgender-gender-affirming-care-ban-kansas-ef3e4d9ef40a29da3d8059d80bbed3a5  

Hawkins, S. (2015) Queerness in Pop Music. 1st edn. Taylor and Francis. Available at: https://www.perlego.com/book/1644105/queerness-in-pop-music-aesthetics-gender-norms-and-temporality-pdf (Accessed: 21 March 2023). 

Kehrer, L. J. (2022). Hip Hop’s Queer Roots: Disco, House, and Early Hip Hop. In Queer Voices in Hip Hop: Cultures, Communities, and Contemporary Performance (pp. 18–41). University of Michigan Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.3998/mpub.11306619.5

Lin, Jeremy Atherton. “Gay bar : why we went out.” New York ; Little, Brown and Company, 2021.