Humor and Harmony: An Interview with Girlyman

Among folk fans, quirky, Atlanta-based trio, Girlyman is as famous for their warm, funny stage patter as for their sweet harmonies and nuanced lyrics. Friends since grammar school, band mates Doris Muramatsu, and Ty Greenstein started out as a duo. After meeting solo artist Nate Borofsky, the three formed Girlyman, and since have released four albums. On tour now in support of their recent live album, “Somewhere Different Now.” Ty took time out from touring to talk about the band’s evolution.

Queerky- How long has Girlyman been together?

Ty- Almost eight years now.

Queerky- How have you developed as songwriters over that time?

Ty- Well, we’ve always been acoustic, and we’ve always done three part harmonies and we always kind of crack ourselves up during our live show. I think our songwriting has evolved just because we’re older. For myself as a songwriter, I tend to not be as obsessed with myself; I’m more interested in writing about other people and writing about the world. As a musician, I always want to branch out as much as I can.

Queerky- What’s your writing process like?

TY- I try to make at least an hour every day. I had a writing studio built in my backyard this year which is a huge thing for me. It’s been really exciting for me to just have this space to go into and to have this process that continues from day to day. If you write just every once in a while, you find the stakes are incredibly high, because if you don’t come up with something great that day you might not be able to get yourself to write again for a while. If you’re writing everyday, and one day not much happens, it doesn’t really matter because you’re going to be back in there the next day.

Queerky- Girlyman has a seemingly very personal relationship with their fans - you post personal blogs, interact on your forum. Is that a strategic career choice?

Ty- Girlyman is just us being ourselves; it’s a very real experience. We want to give people the feeling that they’re part of what we’re doing so creating that kind of presence on the website is something we make a point to do. It’s more fun for people, it creates a sense that we’re still around and we can’t wait to see you again. It’s just like keeping in touch with our family. We’re an independent band; we’re on our own record label, so we rely on the energy sustaining itself. It’s something we can’t do by ourselves, there has to be some sort of continuous growing excitement in order for us to keep doing what we’re doing.

Queerky-You started out on Indigo Girl, Amy Ray’s indie record label, Damon records, but recently went truly independent, putting records out on your own. What prompted the change?

Ty- We were becoming more interested in releasing independently, at the same time, Daemon records was reconfiguring; Amy wanted to take time and figure out what to do next, plus our contract was up anyway. At first we thought, “Gosh, how do you do this without a label?” But it’s making more and more sense for indie artists to release their own CDs. We were excited about using the internet, making it the kind of grass roots operation we were already really familiar with.

Queerky-When can we expect another studio album?

Ty- We’ll probably be doing pre-orders in spring and a wider release later on, definitely this year.

Queerky-You’ve toured with a lot of great musicians. Any favorites?

Ty- Opening for the Indigo Girls was huge for us. We grew up listening to them, so it was incredible for us personally, but also their fans were just ready for our vocal harmonies and our lyrics, they just really got it. It was exciting for us play for these relatively huge audiences and have them really be enthusiastic.

Queerky- Girlyman plays on (fellow folk singer) Chris Pureka’s new album. What was touring with Chris like?

Ty- She’s the sweetest person in the world, really funny, and also a phenomenal musician. We did a little bit of collaboration and it was just a really good fit. It always helps when you can watch the other musician and have it fire you up for your own performance.

Queerky-What interview question are you so bored with you’d rather sleep with Sarah Palin than ever answer again? Don’t spare my feelings; even if I asked it, I still want to know!

Ty-(Laughs) You totally didn’t ask it. It’s “How did you get the name Girlyman?” I don’t know if I’d sleep with Sarah Palin, but I’d definitely rather not answer that question again.

For more information including tour dates and to read their blog, check out http://www.girlyman.com

Written by Sarah Terez Rosenblum

A freelance writer with an MFA in Creative Writing, Sarah Terez Rosenblum is at work on her first novel. When not writing, she supports herself as a Starbucks barista, figure model, Spinning instructor and college teacher. Inevitably one day she will find herself naked at Starbucks or trying to brew espresso using a stationary bicycle. She’s kind of looking forward to it actually.

The Evolution of Desire

When Nelson Wong saw the tall, hot athletic boy across the dance floor, his reaction was straight-up primal.

“When I first encountered Cole,” recalls Wong, “I was swept up with this amazingly sexy boy I saw, struck by his eyes, his lips and his build. I was so attracted to him.”

That description of boy-on-boy desire has been written and rewritten millions of times, but this particular chemistry defied the traditional fag-traction model.

As Cole Dodsley remembers it, after seeing Wong at repeated club nights, their desire turned physical.

“We would make out upstairs,” remembers Dodsley, “and when you make out with a person your hands roam, right? I hadn’t had [breast removal] surgery yet and I knew that he could feel the binder on my back and knew that he was noticing something, so this is where I’m saying, ‘He needs to know,’ and ‘Oh shit if I tell him, will he hate me, will he not wanna make out with me, is he totally going to be grossed out and freaked out?’”

In fact, Dodsley (a transgendered man who identified as a lesbian before transitioning) and Wong (a gay man) discovered their desires were growing and made the decision to evolve along with them.

Wong wrote about the experience for Gayze magazine: “I pulled down his black jockeys to reveal a neatly trimmed mound of dark hair and warm tissue. At 28, this was my first time with a female-bodied person and I was nervous. I worried that I would be repulsed or stifled by the sight of it. Seeing him naked, however, was a total turn-on.

“Seeing his soft sensitive tissue exposed made me incredibly horny. I leaned him back on a log and licked and sucked him. It was warm, wet and heaven.”

Since that experience four years ago, Wong says his own attraction options have widened.

“My experience with Cole was fantastic and I am so happy it happened. It definitely broadened the spectrum of people that I can engage with to find intimacy. It sounds cheesy, but it has opened up my world. I don’t have to look solely to 10 percent of the population -that is gay and bio-male -to explore what turns me on.”

While Wong’s journey was a positive one, he admits he was shocked and disheartened by some of the judgments coming from his community.

“I definitely knew that some of my gay friends felt revulsion. Lots of comments dealing with female genitalia, that sort of thing.

“I have friends who don’t believe in transsexualism; they don’t accept it,” he continues. “Some of them don’t believe that trans issues should be lumped together with queer issues. They believe that it is social- and self-hatred issues rather than their gender identity. It is difficult to respond to that. ”

In a lot of ways, the simple existence of transgendered people in the gay community throws many gay comfort zones right out the figurative window.

After years of fighting for the right to exist, of coming out to family and friends and in many cases being ostracized for being attracted to people of the same sex, many gays and lesbians feel deeply attached to their hard-won labels.

Wong reveals that beyond the external pressures and chastisements from his gay male friends, his newly identified desire caused him some stress internally as well, specifically regarding his identity as an out and proud gay man.

“There was definitely a voice inside my head that alerted me to the fact that I had fought so hard to be a gay male, to create this identity and this strength of character despite this mainstream, heterosexual world and the expectations of my parents. There was a voice inside of me that worried that I was betraying some of that.”

Transgendered porn star Buck Angel -who bills himself as “the man with a pussy” -makes a lucrative living selling and starring in adult DVDs (Buckback Mountain, Buck Off) and streaming videos.

The demographics of his audience offer some surprising insight regarding gay and lesbian desires.

“Eighty percent of my customer base is gay men. Twenty percent is female -bisexual, straight and gay,” explains Angel.

“I get a lot of gay men writing me letters about how they are so turned on by me and they can’t believe it and what does that make them, are they now straight? My vagina freaks people out, especially gay men,” he says.

“They are attracted to me as a person but because I have a vagina, it just totally throws them for a loop, they can’t wrap their head around it.”

Angel says he has seen and heard many horror stories about the treatment of trans folks by gays and lesbians. “Twenty years ago, I identified as a dyke. When I started transitioning, the dyke community ostracized me; every single one of my friends wanted nothing to do with me. There was no knowledge about what was going on then.

“Funnily enough, a lot of people have called me since then, asking me how they go about transitioning now.”

If trans people are challenging many gays’ and lesbians’ notions of desire, so too are they often broadening their own scope of attraction.

For many trans people who identified as gay or lesbian before transitioning, it wasn’t just their bodies that evolved upon transition; they discovered their desires were shifting as well.

Dr. Christopher Shelley is a professor at the University of British Columbia and author of the book Transpeople: Repudiation, Trauma, Healing.

He thinks the evolution in desire experienced by many trans people is the result of feeling freer in other aspects of their lives.

“When people start to become -to grow and let themselves be -they can let down all kinds of defenses and open themselves up to new experiences and attractions,” he says.

“Once you are, for the first time in your life, comfortable in the body that you should be in, new doors can open for you. There’s a lot of trans people who never had orgasms, who never let themselves go or be sexually. They couldn’t even touch themselves because they were wrongly bodied. Once they are rightly bodied, they are simply more honest and more comfortable with themselves and with others,” he explains.

“Trans people teach us about the complexities of life and that it isn’t just the easy categories of straight, gay, lesbian, heterosexual, homosexual,” Shelley says. “In many ways, I think that trans folks challenge all of our categorical assumptions. That makes them a very potent group of teachers.”

Dodsley is no stranger to Shelley’s theory of shifting desires.

“Almost all the trans men in my life are more attracted to men than they were before they transitioned. That’s not to say they aren’t attracted to women anymore, they totally are, but almost all of them are attracted to men,” he says.

“I now realize that I’ve always been attracted to men but previously thought, ‘Oh I am attracted to men because I wanna be one. Then I realized that it wasn’t that -it was that I was attracted to them!

Before transitioning, Dodsley identified as a lesbian. Now, he says, his relationship is “anything but heterosexual.”

“I don’t think that many people on the street would see us as heterosexual because my partner has her own masculine features as well,” he explains. “We still don’t look like a heterosexual couple and I think that keeps me pretty queer too. She’s queer and I’m queer.

“If everybody likes everybody, I’m happy. We should all feel free to love whoever we want to in terms of gender,” he adds.

Roz Shakespeare was the first openly transsexual police office in the Vancouver Police Department. She sees the evolution of trans desire this way: “In the beginning, we’re presenting a body that we don’t feel comfortable in. It’s not that we don’t belong there, it’s that we were pushed there. You’re not free to be engaged fully; you’re always holding a part of a veil there so nobody can see beyond that.

“As we come out and can be who we are fully, that canvas is blank, usually at an age where we’re now a little more comfortable exploring who that is and feeling safe,” she explains.

Most of the people interviewed for this story believe there is a significant difference in terms of how the gay community responds to trans men and women.

While trans men by no means have it easy when it comes to flirting, dating and even friendship within the gay community, they seem to have it easier than most trans women.

“I think it hearkens back to feminist theory -what is strong and what is weak,” says videographer and trans man Erek Tymchak.

“If you look in the gay men’s community, there is a hierarchy, isn’t there? Butch men are top of the pile; then, the young good-looking guys that can pass as possibly straight and then it goes down from there,” he says. “The effeminate men are always near the bottom. Drag queens are somewhere down there, and god forbid you want to be a woman.”

“The queer community as a whole has phobias against femininity, especially when it is expressed by male-bodied individuals, regardless of their gender identity,” agrees Gwen Haworth, producer and star of the award-winning documentary She’s a Boy I Knew (a film about her own transition and her family’s response to it).

“Whether it is an effeminate gay man or a trans women, femininity is undervalued in society,” Haworth continues.

“When trans women begin that journey, I think that their sexual power in society gets diminished. It is like watching Jack on Will and Grace, or the cast of Priscilla Queen of the Desert; they become these farcical characters. There’s a lot of other reasons behind it I think, but society’s devaluing the feminine is a major part of that.”

Shannon Summers finds it disheartening that “trans women are invisible to gay men.”

“We can go to gay bars and we are accepted there,” she says, “but it is not just that gay men don’t hit on trans women, gay men don’t pay any attention to trans women.

“They don’t talk to us, we don’t interact at all. Gay men want men who look like men and when they see a trans woman, they see a female and if we’re not a drag queen -if we’re not making fun of the gender and the genre -then we’re not on their radar.”

Tymchak says his transitioning wasn’t very well received, either, within the gay community. “I can tell you about numerous comments that people made before I transitioned, which halted my own transition,” he says.

“It is ironic that they have fought so hard and yet are being so ruthless towards another,” he adds, referring to the gay community.

That said, Tymchak believes that evolution is inevitable. Trans people have a lot in common with gays and lesbians, he says. “This is just another way for traditional gay and lesbian people to be challenged.

“It is funny to think that gay and lesbian people amongst us are conservative, but they are!” he continues. “They need to open their hearts and minds to us, just as they’ve asked the rest of the world to do for themselves. Realize the activism is not over.”

Haworth is optimistic about the future of the queer community and its openness to gender and sexual fluidity when she looks to the generations younger than her.

“Queer folks in their 20s are a lot more comfortable with gender fluidity,” she says. “As someone in my mid-30s, I’m learning from that.”

But, she says, queer desire won’t truly evolve until gays and lesbians address the transphobia that still shapes many of their responses to trans people.

“The LGBT community has to really bring this to the table and re-think where their hearts are,” she says.

“We as trans folks have to re-approach how we are going to connect with the queer community because there is this divide that is happening right now,” she continues. “Sometimes I think it has to do with the difference between proactive or preemptive politics and reactive politics. That is detrimental to us all. Let’s take down our guard and talk to each other, learn about each other, see where our similarities are and grow together. I think that is the next glass ceiling.”

As for Shelley, he hopes the future of queer love will be more focused on desire and chemistry than on conventional understandings of gender and same-sex attraction.

“If we have any impact at all, in the future it will be that queer people will be more queer, that people could be able to appreciate the complexities of human sexuality and gender,” he says.

“Rather than being fixed in the body of one thing only, and strive to be one thing only for the whole of one’s life, maybe we’ll be -to quote Bette Davis -much more ‘this and that.’”

Denise Sheppard (scribe at shaw dot ca) is a self-employed journalist/editor who likes long walks, candlelit dinners and writing for U.S. and Canadian national mags and websites. Her fave topics are human rights-related pieces and entertainment journalism.

Indigo Girl Gone Solo: Amy Ray and the Art of Letting Go

“My wife and I missed your show last night,” says a nondescript man. He’s first in line to greet Indigo Girl, Amy Ray at a Chicago Border’s in-store signing. “Our son got sick.”

Another man, not a day under sixty, carefully unloads a stack of Ray-related memorabilia, including a vinyl copy of her newest solo album. He folds his hands behind his back, and smiles as she signs each one.

In search of a landline on which to conduct our interview, I ask a friend’s boss if I can borrow a cubicle. “I can’t believe Amy Ray is gonna call here,” my friend’s boss, straight and suburban, squeals, “She’s like a real celebrity!”

Clearly, members of the mainstream can pick Ray out of a lineup; even sing a few bars of one of her songs, or at least one written by the other Indigo Girl, Emily Saliers - hers tend to get more radio play. But Ray is the Indigo Girl gone solo, the one hauling her own gear, staging a packed punk-tinged show at Chicago’s small concert venue, The Metro, pushing the envelope of queer visibility by showing the world (or at least those who are savvy enough to pay attention) another side of a forty-four year old lesbian singer/songwriter, the side that fucking rocks.

When Ray calls from outside Chapel Hill, she’s just taken a turn driving her tour van, byproduct of a stripped down tour. She’s headed out the other side of a Midwest stint that began with a broken down van and a missed Iowa gig. Back in Madison Wisconsin, she offered to make dinner for any audience member who could lend her a truck. “I make a killer sweet potato enchilada,” she said. Now she seems in good spirits, anticipating a break followed by a West Coast run, “Birmingham, Tallahassee, maybe a Mississippi show,” she says, “then out through Texas, the Southwest and up to the West Coast.” January 15th through February 7th if you’re wondering.

Not wanting to try Ray’s patience, I skip the lame background questions: “How did you come up with the name ‘Indigo Girls,’” (a serendipitous pass through the dictionary) and “Have you and Emily ever had sex?” (Absolutely not). Instead, I plunge right in.

Queerky: Didn’t It Feel Kinder is your third solo album. After making your career as half of a duo, what surprised you most about suddenly being a solo artist?

Amy Ray: When I started I thought [solo work] was just gonna be something I did a couple of times to experiment, get a few things out of my system. Then I realized it was as important to me as what I do with Indigo Girls. That was a surprise for me.

Q: Tell me about your writing process.

AR: I have a lyric journal, and when I’m in writing mode, which is probably about seventy-five percent of the year, I write maybe four or five days a week anywhere from two to five hours a day. I don’t censure myself at all; it doesn’t have to be quality, its just getting my ideas out. Then I comb through for nuggets of songs and I tape myself playing and singing along to different parts. The first part of the process when I read back through, I’m a little surprised at what comes out sometimes, but I step back from it and try to be really objective, so it doesn’t scare me like it used to. (laughs)

Q: As a writer I tend to reveal without editing and then be surprised by how vulnerable I’ve made myself. Can you relate to that experience at all?

AR: Well, when I sing live, it becomes a more vulnerable experience. But I just have to let go and be in the moment. I can’t be responsible for what my vulnerability is at that point.

Q: How has your relationship to songwriting as a discipline changed over your career? Did you always write every day?

AR: Right now on tour I’m not doing that. We just finished an Indigo Girls record so I’m not writing as much as I typically do. I’m just sort of on break to let things in. But no, I didn’t start out writing like that at all. I was really undisciplined. I believed in this idea that if the muse hits you, you write. I didn’t edit enough and I didn’t really work hard enough. Probably eight years ago, when I started making solo records, I started reading a lot about writing and talking to different songwriters and I realized I needed to create a routine around it and I did.

Q: Did that change your work?

AR: Melodically I still struggle sometimes, but I noticed that my songs got better, the images got a little tighter, I got more prolific. I feel like anytime you work on something as a discipline it improves. There’s no doubt about it.

Q: In terms of discipline, it seems like your vocal range has developed in recent years as well. Was that something you consciously cultivated?

AR: Earlier on, I just took my voice as the natural quality of what it was and didn’t work on it. I definitely didn’t take good care of it. I drank and smoked a lot and that’s not good for your voice. That stopped about twelve years ago. Probably five or six years ago, I started working with this DVD for heavy metal singers called “The Zen of Screaming.” I was listening to vocalists like Brandi Carlisle and Jeff Buckley who had a certain way they would break into their head voice. I started working on that, doing specific things around building my range. I talk to other vocalists and call this vocal teacher and ask her questions. It’s kind of nerdy; I definitely work on it a lot because I want to be able to go between screaming a punk rock song with melody within the screaming, to singing in a very strong but vulnerable kind of head voice. I want to be able to do both things because I’m writing songs that, to me, have both voices in them, and if I can’t do that it’s frustrating to me.

Q: You talk about how using your head voice goes along with the progression of your songwriting and all the work you do with gender.

AR: Yeah, when I wrote She’s Got to Be, I wrote it in that higher range cause I was trying to reflect a sort of quote unquote feminine part of myself by singing in that register.

Q: Speaking of gender, I have a theory that most lesbians-femmes included– have a secret male alter ego. If you were a man (and I’m not saying you aren’t) how do you imagine you’d look? What would your name be?

AR: Oh…what would my name be? Well, people call me Amos, so that’s probably my alter-ego name. I’d probably look about the same to be honest.

Q: Did you see how quickly you came up with that?

AR: Yeah I think because I’m so male-identified in so many ways it’s not a hard one for me (laughs).

Q: We’ve talked a bit about what it’s like to put your songs out and sort of let go of them. You seem really at peace with the whole process. Some performers, Kurt Cobain and Ani Difranco both come to mind, famously object to fans misinterpreting their songs. You use metaphor and history and personal experience to write really multidimensional songs, so I’m guessing you get a lot of fans flattening your meaning, maybe going for the obvious interpretation. What are your feelings about that?

AR: I think when Ani comments on that or when Kurt did, I think they had such frenetic fans who had a propriety relationship to their lyrics [which] probably made them feel like they shouldn’t have to be accountable for this or that. I don’t have that same intense experience. I really believe in letting the song go. I’m fully aware that people are going to have their own meanings for it. Obviously, it would upset me if people thought I was saying something inflammatory or negative or mean when I didn’t mean that, but as far as interpretations of metaphors, or taking the song and making their own meaning, or even reading into my life in a way that’s not accurate, it doesn’t matter to me actually. I don’t think about myself to that extent, you know what I mean?

Q: That probably makes it a lot easier for you.

AR: Yeah, I’ll sit and read a Louise Erdrich book, and in my mind I’m coming up with all these ways that it connects to her real life, and I’m sure none of them are true. I used to do that all the time with Bernie Taupin’s lyrics with Elton John. I just thought I had him figured out lyrically. It’s just what people do.

Q: What’s more likely to make you cry, books, movies or songs?

AR: Hmmm. Songs.

Q: And now we come to the meat of the interview, some very serious questions coming up. The L Word, positive cultural step forward or exploitative poorly-written drivel?

AR: (laughs)

Q: Or maybe both.

AR: (Still laughing) I might have to take the fifth on that. I think it’s both.

Q: Starbucks drink of choice?

AR: Soy Chai.

Q: Favorite season?

AR: Spring.

Q: Favorite time of day?

AR: Twilight.

Q: Name four activities you cannot live without. By activities I mean, like working out-

AR: Working out…being in the woods… I can’t live without… eating junk food and I can live without sex… for a while but not for more than a couple of years.

Q: Ok, well should I count that one or not?

AR: Um, let’s count that one.

Q: How many animals do you own right now?

AR: I have… five dogs and seven cats.

Q: How many is too many?

AR: I could probably fit one more dog and one more cat and then I’m at my limit.

Q: What’s your favorite breed of dog (although I’m assuming you go more for the rescues and the mutts)?

AR: Yeah, mutts are my favorite breed. I like around a forty-five to fifty pound dog.

Q: Could you have a relationship with someone with opposing political views?

AR: Not a love relationship, no.

Q: Speaking of politics, a lot of queer people describe having a circumscribed period of pure joy when Obama was elected, followed by deep disappointment, almost an estrangement, after Prop 8 passed. What was your experience?

AR: I was so overwhelmed that Obama won with such an incredible majority that for me, it didn’t dim that much, because I expect that this marriage thing is gonna be pretty slow moving. Even Obama can’t stand up and say he’s for gay marriage. The marriage issue is important to me as a human rights issue but there are so many other queer community issues that are important to me. I didn’t have high expectations, is a simple way to put it, so it didn’t blow my mind, but I think it’s important that people are speaking out about it. I think that’s great.

Q: I have a potentially dicey question for you. In mainstream culture, references to Indigo Girls, more often than not, appear as jokes. Like, Glamour magazine might write, “you’ve just been dumped, and you’re at home listening to Indigo Girls and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s,” or I know I’ve read belittling references in Maxim for example. Why do you think Indigo Girls end up a cultural punch line?

AR: Yeah, people say “I’m a closet Indigo Girls fan.” It’s as if women are only allowed this very narrow access to music and success, and when they do have it there’s still a sense of embarrassment about recognizing it or validating it. It’s about sexism, and sort of a derogatory idea of what it means when women express themselves. When you add homophobia on top of it, and then a band that’s been together twenty something years; when you have such an attachment to such specifics, you’re gay, you’re a woman, you don’t have an image like Madonna, you put all that together, and you have a very easy target. There’s a certain almost derogatory iconic status that comes along with that. In some ways you have to expect that if you’re gonna be outspoken and so politicized, so iconically who you are, you’re gonna get cultural references that aren’t always positive, and humor that’s the lowest common denominator. Sometimes it’s clever. Sometimes it’s subversive and even flattering in its cultural way. The only thing that bothers me about it sometimes is the reflection it has on society: It means we haven’t moved that far. The gatekeepers are still the patriarchy. They still think of rock or folk or country as sort of a man’s game as far as who can lay claim to some kind of intellectual free rights. It doesn’t ruin my day or anything. It just kind of is what it is.

Q: Again, you seem to have a really healthy attitude about things that are out of your control.

AR. I used to have a much worse temper and it didn’t do me much good.

Q: One more question for you. I think kids have really specific ideas about their adult lives. Like, I always thought I’d grow up to be blond. What sort of vision did you have for your life when you were say ten? How is the life you live the same or different?

AR: When I was ten I pretty much thought I was a guy, so that was shocking when it didn’t happen. But you know I’ve been able to come full circle on that. I really wanted to be a musician so I sort of pictured myself living in a rural area and playing music and that’s what I do. I got really lucky.
Except that she didn’t. No way is Ray’s success luck-based. Sure, Indigo Girls gained visibility in the Tracy Chapman-fueled half second during which folk music was marginally cool, but Ray’s continual presence on the music scene, her growth as an artist, the evolution of her songs and voice, none are accidental. Her success is a direct consequence of her ability to both channel her will-power and sustain an objective distance. In discussing the breadth of her singing range Ray says humbly, “I’m totally not there yet,” meaning she hasn’t fully attained the vocal goals she’s set for herself. However, Ray is striking in that while she has her sights set on further landmarks on her path toward self-actualization, she’s adept at harnessing her ambition, has perfected the art of letting go; she’s already farther along then most will ever be.

For tour dates, videos, sound clips and photos (including one of Amy in a prom dress) please visit her website at http://www.amy-ray.com/.

Written by Sarah Terez Rosenblum

A freelance writer with an MFA in Creative Writing, Sarah Terez Rosenblum is at work on her first novel. When not writing, she supports herself as a Starbucks barista, figure model, Spinning instructor and college teacher. Inevitably one day she will find herself naked at Starbucks or trying to brew espresso using astationary bicycle. She’s kind of looking forward to it actually.

‘Where’s the anger, the feeling, the fire?’

Depending on who you are and where you come from, the term “lesbian music” likely conjures up one of two images.

The first, a peaceful roomful of queer women with acoustic guitars singing about love, collective empowerment and community.

For others, the idea of lesbian music might bring to mind the image of womyn/wimmin/women with mullet haircuts and plaid jackets singing outdated folk songs on their acoustic guitars, holding each other tight while crying and singing about wombs and waterfalls.

One thing is for certain: lesbian music has - since its initial heyday in the ’70s - gained its place in history as groundbreaking, magical and inspirational to many.

Today, queer women generally don’t have much more than a historically fuzzy perspective on that period, much less a sense of the depth and breadth of its significance. Yet many of the reasons that contemporary musicians are free to be out and proud are because of those lesbian foot soldiers of yesteryear.

Young queer musicians and music industry folks often deem landmark artists, ranging from Cris Williamson and Ferron (who broke ground in the ’70s) to the Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge in the acoustic revival of the ’90s, as “too out” or “too gay” - in spite of their accomplishments.

For many 20-something recording artists, the fight for freedom appears to be over, and as a result, the need to queer-identify in one’s lyrics or to the press seems to them to be a step back - a blinkered approach to their craft that doesn’t begin to describe who they are at their core.

Some see this inconsequentiality of orientation as an indication that equality has been achieved.

However, by not gathering our queer community together through music, and not identifying and singing about it, are we losing the unique and supportive lesbian music community that united and made the scene special?

Moreover, is the lack of queer lyrics and politics in music going to be detrimental to the next generation who can’t find songs and role models willing to talk about what it is like to be queer?

Cris Williamson remembers a time when women’s music and community were virtually synonymous.

Williamson - a pioneer in that scene in the ’70s and still touring actively today - was considered to be at the epicenter with her CD The Changer and the Changed seen as one of the main soundtracks to that period of time.

En route to a gig in New Orleans, Williamson’s voice on the line softens as she remembers that era.

“Music was the centre of the circle, it was the hub around which everything revolved… bookstores, hotlines… at the center of it were these concerts that they called ‘women’s music’ and it was a way to bring people together, a way to create a community where they had none.

“Everybody had been marginalized and horrified, but when we gathered together, it was the closest we could get to church. Nobody had any money but whatever there was we shared. Now, we look back and say, ‘Wow, what a thing that was!’”

Pat Hogan, concert producer and founder of Sounds & Furies Productions, also recalls those days as being filled with power and possibility.

“It was about giving voice to and about women, specifically lesbians. There was nothing like it before. Olivia Records was one of the first - if not the first - record company that was owned, operated and run by women - music that mainstream record companies wouldn’t even touch,” Hogan recollects. “It was amazing and radical. The community then was so strong!

“In a way, I think there is a longing for that. When we listen to younger women talk, it is too bad they don’t have the herstory, because they’ve missed out on what brought them to where they are today,” Hogan laments. “It is because of lesbians who were out there as pioneers that a lot of women have the opportunities that they do, whether or not they know it.”

Vancouver singer/songwriter Kate Reid definitely echoes this sentiment and admits she’s deeply concerned that her fellow queer musicians are being apolitical. She worries about the effect on future generations.

“The thing that I see not happening right now is political stuff in the music women are making. People are saying, ‘We don’t need that, we’ve got our equal rights’ - which is bullshit. I think that there is a false belief that queer women have it made, that it is not necessary anymore, the fight is done,” Reid contends.

“I go to shows as much as I can and I wonder, ‘Where’s the beef? Where’s the substance of lyrics? Where’s the anger, the feeling, the fire?’”

Williamson agrees.

“Women still aren’t safe in the world, so when the young people coming up say they’re tired of it, they are tired of the issues that still are with us, of rape and misogyny and homophobia - those things haven’t changed so much as they’ve been softened, in that the language is less present in the culture,” Williamson suggests.

“There are still women that we don’t know who are being killed because they are gay, and songwriters still need to tell those stories. In the global reach it is really important to talk about it. The feminist revolution is not done as long as some women are dying somewhere - or just being kept from thinking freely.”

Lisa Howell, aka DJ De Lux, is the event coordinator at Lick, a Vancouver nightclub for women. She sees not only political apathy, but the future fallout arising from it.

“From what I see as a DJ at Lick, the younger crowd definitely reacts the most to hip-hop and Top 40; it is really more about the rhythm and the beats, not so much the lyrics,” Howell observes.

“I think that is a sign of the times. This hurts not just queers but everybody. When we don’t have substance to what we are doing, we’re going to start to feel empty,” she argues.

“There’s a lot of younger kids coming up into the scene. Where’s their support going to be? Where will the Indigo Girls of this time going to be when they need that? Where’s the leadership and representation when all the queers just see everybody getting drunk and partying and there’s no substance anymore?”

Across the board, it seems more young queer musicians than ever are distancing themselves from their orientation. In some cases, it’s a conscious decision to play down the queer sexuality in their music.

The reasoning behind it? The word “pigeonholed” almost invariably comes up.

“It was quite a conscious decision from the get-go of me playing music. I didn’t want to be judged as a person based on my sexuality. I wanted to be a musician, not a lesbian musician,” explains Lise Oakley, lead singer of the Vancouver group The Wintermitts.

“I was a big fan of Tegan and Sara but there was a whole gay stigma that stuck to them even when they started their career,” Lise notes. “As a younger lesbian I really looked up to them, but I decided that I really didn’t want to be seen as ‘the lesbian singer/songwriter.’

“We want everyone to listen to our music, but I have always felt that you get pigeonholed if you are considered a lesbian band, queer band or queer-heavy band.”

Sena Hussain, lead singer for Vancouver punk rock group Secret Trial Five, has also noted an increasing trend among contemporary artists to avoid what they see as the bounds of sexuality in the interest of attracting a wider listenership.

“People have been moving away from that [sexuality] label because they want to be taken seriously by all types of audiences. The topics that we cover are not queer; they are in regards to [being] Muslim. I would like to write more for a general audience and then get more specific with it. But I definitely see the potential for it down the road.”

Olympia, Washington-based performer Melanie Free - better known by her band name Tender Forever - feels the gay press shoulders some of the responsibility for focusing more on queer artists’ sexuality than their music.

“I truly hate segregation of all kinds. Who wants to be in a box? I don’t,” Free says emphatically, adding “I’ve always answered all the interviews that I got the chance to be offered. Always. But I found myself more upset with the LGBT press than by the non-gay press.

“Eventually, the interviews always end up to be related to my private life. It’s kind of cheap thinking that I would have to talk about my sexual orientation more than what I do,” Free complains. “It’s like assuming that my first thought in the morning is, ‘I’m gay’ instead of, ‘I can’t wait to work on that new cover song!’

“Being queer is definitely not on my mind and I don’t want it to be ’cause it would give a good purpose to people to make it something different enough to be put apart.”

Yet a number of musicians acknowledge that the lack of present-day queer musical role models could have adverse consequences. Shay Faded, a 24-year-old Vancouver hip-hop emcee says she never wanted to be labeled “Shay the gay rapper.” Still, she admits that it could be more challenging for younger artists if there are few, if any, self-professed queer acts from which to draw inspiration.

“When I was a teenager, lesbian folk music was pretty out there, nothing was being hidden at all,” Faded recalls, adding “I think now it is more about the music than anything.”

She acknowledges that by not self-promoting her queer side, she may be losing a potentially devoted audience.

“There’s a huge gay audience that I have yet to reach out to and I know it is huge! I’ve seen Brigee K emcee at Lick and there’s 250 people running up to her asking her for her music. I would like to do that. As for writing queer songs, though, I don’t see myself doing that.”

Lukas Silveira - lead singer of the major-label band The Cliks - has made his own peace with mixing the personal and political. As a trangendered man whose band has done mainstream gigs (currently touring with rockers The Cult) while simultaneously participating in the True Colors human rights tour, Silveira is disturbed by what he sees as a trend among queers to fully assimilate at the expense of potential future collective empowerment.

“Gays and lesbians - the more conservative side - want to be seen as ‘normal’ people. They want normalcy in living, working, dating, having children. A lot of people don’t want to be associated with queerness which is where the community falls out from under us,” Silveira observes.

“Back in the day you had the Indigo Girls, Ani DiFranco, Melissa Etheridge, people who brought women together, communities of people who were ready to say, ‘This is something that represents us, this is something that we identify with.’ Now, when you look around and see lesbian artists, they aren’t really coming out and saying, ‘We’re lesbian.’ They just wanna sing, they just wanna play, they just wanna do what they do. Their sexuality is no longer up front.

“In one way, I can totally understand,” Silveira continues. “I’m transgendered, but that is not what I am in the music industry. There, I’m a musician. But I see people trying to remove that ‘I’m a lesbian’ thing because they think that in their minds they can be more successful.

“Personally, I’m very comfortable with what I do. I know that talking about it makes a difference,” he notes. “It is so powerful to come off the stage, go to the merch table and get a 15-year-old genderqueer kid come up to me with his mom and say, ‘I drove for three hours to see you. I’m the only transgendered kid that I know and I’ve come to let you know that because of you, I feel normal.’ Are you kidding me? Talk about healing! That to me is so worth what I do.”

The Wintermitts’ Oakley says she has witnessed the queer community getting smaller as a whole, but believes that it is happening because GLBT musicians are integrating into the community at large.

“I can’t think of a band in Vancouver alone that is fully queer; you’ll have bands where half the band will be queer, half the band’s not. That is community to me, because you are integrating. “For me, being in a band with two straight boys, they are learning a lot about queer community and they are supporting it as well.” Lick manager Jessy Leak sees positives and negatives regarding that trend.

“I feel like the scene is getting smaller and smaller because there is less to fight for,” says Leak. “The queer youth that I see on a regular basis aren’t concerned about a sense of community because it is already there for them. It is just handed to them on a silver plate.

“Our community is branching out and meshing with different worlds,” she explains. I don’t know if it is a good or bad thing. I think it is a bit of both because we don’t have that unity as a community but we are having our individuality.”

Vancouver-based jazz musician Erin Ward, programmer for the Sista’Hood Celebration’s Her Jazz Noise Collective event, is excited that Sista’ Hood - an annual musical gathering that celebrates women - exists. But she wonders why that same sense of collective support doesn’t seem to happen specifically within the GLBT music populace.

“I wish there was more community in the queer scene. It seems like it is not trendy to be political and that is sad.”

As for the future of the queer music community, 61-year-old matriarch Williamson says while she’s concerned about the present day, she has confidence in the lesbian music scenes to come.

“If you studied art history, you wouldn’t be surprised by any of this denial of the previous shape of things. A lot of young artists don’t have a proper sense of history, but because it is a pendulum swing, on its way back it picks up almost all the ones that we lost,” Williamson asserts.

“It skips a generation but the next one gets it. I’m finding that it is the 12 and 13-year-old feminists who are fierce, who say, ‘I wish I lived in the ’70s, that sounded so cool!’

“I’m so glad I’ve lived to hear this instead of hearing, ‘We’re not feminists’ or ‘Who are you old grandmas?’

“Ultimately,” Williamson concludes, “the personal is political. You’ve got to connect it. It has to be in the music, in the language, in the presentation. If we isolate people further by not making community, then I think that is anti-art. If people don’t want to make community, then they won’t. But the young people after them will be the ones sure as shootin’ that will make community. I have faith in the pendulum.”

Written by Denise Sheppard

Denise Sheppard (scribe at shaw dot ca) is a self-employed journalist/editor who likes long walks, candlelit dinners and writing for U.S and Canadian national mags and websites. Her fave topics are human rights-related pieces and entertainment journalism.

Girls Rock!

Five days, over one hundred teenage girls, one goal: be yourself. Not the self your parents hope you’ll be. Not the self your siblings and friends bully you into being. Not the self who mimics those girls you publicly hate but secretly admire because everyone looks at them. Be the real you - the you that ROCKS. This goal is the driving force behind the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls and the basis of the new documentary, Girls Rock!

The Riot Grrl movement in the early 1990s tapped into the raw musical talent and intense energy so many women had been taught to hide and deny. But with every cultural movement comes backlash. For the Riot Grrl movement, it came in the form of vacuous pop music icons with glossy lips, bare midriffs and pigtails, dancing suggestively while singing along to pre-recorded voice tracks. Clearly, it’s time to re-empower young women.

Enter the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls. Founded by Misty McElroy, the camp’s main goal is to “build girls’ self-esteem through music creation and performance.” What started as a fledgling program at Portland State University in the summer of 2001 has become a veritable revolution with new camps popping up from the Bay Area to Britain.

The new documentary, Girls Rock!, details the experiences of four of the camp’s participants as they form bands, write songs, and perform for 750 fans - all in the span of 5 days. These girls were chosen for the camp and the documentary not because they worship Le Tigre or can play the guitar; they were chosen because they are the examples of what life is like for many young women in America today.

Palace, 7, has more worries than can fit into her tiny frame. Her parents are divorced and her baby brother has Down’s syndrome. She frequently misses school due to “tummy aches” brought on by severe anxiety. At rock camp, Palace sings. Well, she screeches.

Laura, 15, is a Korean adoptee. She is one of the only girls in her small Oklahoma town who listens to death metal. She is outgoing, well spoken and funny, but doesn’t push the line for fear of offending someone or standing out. At rock camp, Laura writes and sings her own lyrics.

The film flows between interviews with the featured girls’ parents, camp staff, and the girls themselves to clips of all participants immersed in the day-to-day activities of rock camp. It is peppered with sections of inventive animation that serve as the backdrop for revealing statistics about teen girls and the media, such as “Twice as many boys as girls say their talents are what they like most about themselves. Girls are twice as likely to say a body part is their best feature” and “The number one wish of teen girls is to lose weight.”

A few weeks ago, I was able to speak with Arne Johnson and Shane King, the co-directors of Girls Rock!. Arne and Shane have been collaborating on film projects since the 7th grade when they got their hands on a Super 8mm. At a concert, they learned of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp’s existence through Carrie Brownstein of Sleater Kinney. “She was raving about the camp and we knew there was something there,” commented Shane. He remembered initially thinking that, because of the camp’s affiliation with big name grrl rock groups like Sleater Kinney and The Gossip, the camp would be some sort of “rocket ship to stardom” for aspiring girls. But what they found was that this program is “much more of a life raft” for girls who need to find and trust their own voice.

Initially, Shane and Arne were unsure that they, as men, were the right people to make this documentary. “We definitely questioned it,” acknowledged Shane, “but what it came down to was that we really weren’t taking anything for granted. We let the girls tell their whole story.” Arne echoed this sentiment and added that, “the girls became our tour guides. We were just two guys having our eyes opened by these girls.”

What the girls reveal is inspiring, humorous and sometimes crushing. But even more important than what is exposed is what people do with the information given. When I asked Arne and Shane what positive reactions they hoped this documentary would incite, they were very candid about their expectations. “The people who create the media are adults and we are the ones who need to fix it,” said Arne. “We need to stop consuming and making these things that are sending incorrect messages to kids.” As far as the younger audience is concerned, Arne stated, “The girls talk about the importance of positive role models. What we really need is for these girls who have found their voice to become these role models for other girls.” And as for Shane, well he just wants to see a rock ‘n’ roll camp for girls in every city in America.

These are high hopes for a documentary, but the girls featured are nothing short of awe-inspiring. Laura calmly states at the beginning of the film, “I just accept that I hate myself and I don’t really think about it.” But with a new group of friends, the freedom to sing the words that she wrote, and people who actually encourage her to dance during the performance, Laura completely transforms into an amazingly confident person. She smiles and says to the camera, “I’ve been waiting so long to finally admit to myself that I’m amazing. Everyone is beautiful in their own way and they get even better when they decide to be powerful and they decide to rock.”

So take your friends and all the kids you can legally wrangle into your car and check out the premiere of this fantastic new documentary that will have you cheering for these mini-rockers and asking where this camp was when you were a kid.

Girls Rock! opens in select cities (including Portland, Chicago and Los Angeles) on March 7! For information on tickets and opening weekend events, please visit the Girl’s Rock! website.

View the movie trailer, plus additional videos, and listen to music created by the camp participants on the Girls Rock! Myspace page!

For more information on the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls, including how you can get involved, visit their official website.

Written by Maggie Weller

From Glam to Gritty - Itty Bitty Titty Committee

A movie named Itty Bitty Titty Committee can certainly bring intrigue on its own, but knowing that the film comes from the mind and hands of Jamie Babbit - director of the hilariously campy queer classic But I’m A Cheerleader (a tongue-in-cheek look at organizations designed to turn people straight) - makes Itty Bitty one of the most anticipated queer films in quite some time. Babbit appreciates the enthusiasm, but cautiously notes that that upon release, Cheerleader’s reviews were all over the map. “I got an F in Entertainment Weekly and a really bad review in Variety, but those things didn’t stop me…I just did my thing. I’ve never really known if people are interested or not, but the blessing is that I don’t really believe the hype negatively. I’m just glad that the movie has been a bigger hit as time has gone on.”

Cheerleader did bring Babbit positive attention in the industry, allowing her the opportunity to make a second feature (The Quiet), garner an agent and direct episodes of everything from Ugly Betty to The L Word. Throughout that period, Babbit never forgot how deeply inspired she had been by the Riot Grrrl scene in the mid-90’s, a movement that celebrated and cultivated feminism through music and self-published fanzines; she had long wanted to document the excitement of that time through film. “I was in my early 20’s when I was going to Bikini Kill shows and was totally inspired. I was newly out and loved going to shows, I had listened to punk music in high school but it was such a guy scene. It was so revolutionary to be able to go to a punk show slamdancing; I loved the music, loved the scene and always wanted to make a movie about that experience; I lived it and so many other people did.”

Enter Itty Bitty Titty Committee; the film’s main storyline involves Anna, a plain jane working in a plastic surgeon’s office, feeling the pressure to change her body. She meets Sadie one night outside her clinic, catching Sadie graffiti-ing the business’ walls. Befriending the radical, sexy founder of a group called the CIA (Clits In Action) Anna falls headfirst into Sadie’s leftist, anarchist world with the enthusiasm of a born-again shit disturber. The film includes a host of queer celeb actors (from The L Word’s Daniela Sea to supermodel Jenny Shimizu to Go Fish’s Guinevere Turner) but ultimately is dark and gritty, homemade-style like a Super 8 movie, a complete 180 from Cheerleader’s neon bright colours and scripted perkiness. Babbit admits that the end result is exactly fully intentional. “My whole inspiration for Cheerleader was Barbie; I gave the production designer my Barbie dream house and said that I wanted it to look like the dream house and wanted the costumes to look like Barbie clothes. For Itty Bitty, my inspiration was the lo-fi cover art for all the Riot Grrrl bands on their seven inches and stuff.”

As a result, the film seeks out to be rebellious at every turn, feeling low-budget and featuring long diatribes on everything from plastic surgery to creating a grrrl-style revolution. Babbit admits that there has been some negative feedback regarding the underground feel, but is unhesitant and unapologetic about the dramatic change from her debut. “When I made Cheerleader, the big movie was Go Fish which was super gritty. I was a freak for making a pretty movie and I got in shit for it. Now, everyone is making glossy films and are saying to me ‘why didn’t you make a pretty movie?’ Truth is, there’s something fun about doing something really gritty.”

For more information on the film including cast bios, screening dates and to view the trailer, visit Itty Bitty’s Myspace page or the official Itty Bitty Titty Committee website.

Written by Denise Sheppard

Denise Sheppard (scribe at shaw dot ca) is a self-employed journalist/editor who likes long walks, candlelit dinners and writing for U.S and Canadian national mags and websites. Her fave topics are human rights-related pieces and entertainment journalism.

‘She’s A Boy I Knew’ wins praise

At the age when small children are thinking about their first day of school and how to ride a bike, Gwen Haworth (who was at the time a young boy named Steven) knew — even in her childlike state — that her gender identity was awry. Even at that oft-innocent age, her instincts were to keep those desires secret from everyone, something she kept to herself for more than two decades. “I’ve been aware of this since I was four,” admits Haworth. “That meant 23 years of keeping this secret hidden, 23 years of self-hate and internalized transphobia.” The frustration in her words are palpable, but the softness in her spirit resonates peace above and beyond all other emotions. Know this: this is no queer tragedy. In fact, Gwen Haworth’s story is inspiring and worth celebrating, one which comes complete with a happy ending. The ‘ending’ however is really just another beginning, coming in the form of a touching film entitled “She’s A Boy I Knew - Gwen’s d.i.y. feature transgender documentary.” Haworth’s first- and second-person account of her evolutionary journey pre - and post–transition is something that should be required viewing in every school, at every PFLAG meeting, heck, at every prenatal class out there. Haworth - now an East Vancouver-based dyke filmmaker - takes on a host of brave topics in front of the camera, asking difficult questions not just of herself, but also her parents, her siblings, her ex-wife (whom she married while identifying a man) and her dearest friends. The candor and bravery of her family results in both touching and deeply honest vignettes that will resonate in the minds of all who watch it.

After witnessing Haworth’s documentary, celebrated Canadian director Anne Wheeler - of Better Than Chocolate and Bye Bye Blues fame - had many words of praise about Gwen’s film, including “The fact that you made this journey, and documented it ‘enroute’ amazes me. It is a genius piece of exploration and a tribute to love enduring beyond question.” Haworth admits to being extremely excited by such words, but states that she is still in the middle of her mission, a desire to finally see a loving, non-disparaging full-length documentary film about trans folk appear on the big screen. That moment happened when She’s A Boy I Knew debuted at the Vancouver International Film Festival on October 4th.

As Haworth tells it, being trapped in the wrong body was incredibly difficult, but having no access to stories of successful transitions - either on film or in books - meant that the process of transitioning was far more difficult and confusing for her and her family than it needed to be. “When I came out, people important to me didn’t really know what it meant to be a transsexual. There were a lot of things to learn, yet there wasn’t anything out there to watch that we were aware of. There wasn’t anything that showed a family experience, to see other people like them going through the difficult questions but still being able to be there for each other through hard times. The suicide rate in the trans community is really high, and a large part of that is through isolation and depression because of not having those people to fall back on. I hope that by showing my family’s experience, that would give other people something to dialogue from.” Gwen’s raw documentation of the emotions around her are incredibly brave, but some of the most painful truths to many trans women are tough to document, but still very real. “We as trans women go through a lot of self hate. One of the things that a lot of trans women are struggling with is wanting to just blend in and forget all about it, not have to deal with all that inner crap that we are going through. In years gone by, especially in rural areas, if you were transitioning, it was often suggested that part of you succeeding at this was throwing away your past life. Throwing away your photos, going out and starting a new life in a new town, cutting off from everybody, which is so isolating. With trans women, if it is you in a crowd, that is fine, but if there’s a few of you together, others may pick up on it. That can become a safety issue really quickly. So I think there is a fear of being part of a visibly queer community. What I see in the trans community is extremely disproportionate; I see a lot of trans guys, that are good friends of mine who have a community base. I think that trans women are more invisible.”

As a result, the award-winning filmmaker decided to make She’s A Boy I Knew her thesis project while finishing up her MFA at the University of British Columbia. The timing - begging filming mere months after her fourth surgery and legally-official transition from male to female - was a conscious decision on her part. “If I had made it five years later, people would have forgotten a lot more, pain would have felt more distant, it wouldn’t have been truthful to the emotion of that time. I really wanted this film to be that resource tool that wasn’t there for any of us, and they understood that.” As a result of her determination, Haworth has succeeded on her mandate in spades; the film is a moving, oftentimes humorous and deeply brave documentation of her and her family’s evolution through Gwen’s transition. Watching it, however, reminds her both of the good and the tough moments through her transition. “I’m gifted with a bad memory,” she laughs. “I forget a lot of the pain that I was going through beforehand and definitely through that process; I knew I was experiencing it and it was pretty intense at times, but I don’t live with it now that I’ve been able to get past it all. I went through situational depression for about two years; I couldn’t see three feet in front of me. I didn’t know what was up in terms of my life outside of transitioning. My longterm relationship had just broken up, I was unemployed for one of the first times in my life since high school, I just felt like nothing was moving forward for me and I just had to focus on this transition and getting through it. It all amounted to a great deal of crying, fatigue and being unable to get out of bed. When I revisit it, it floods back and it is heavy, and I realize that it is so important to see these positive, uplifting images.”

Haworth’s film has been incredibly warmly embraced by the Canadian film community; after its debut at the Vancouver International Film Festival, fans and filmmakers alike praised her efforts, winning the People’s Choice Award for Most Popular Canadian Film and also winning the Women in Film & Television Vancouver Artistic Merit Award, the first time that award has been given to a transsexual women. Haworth continues to work hard moving forward with the aim of getting it seen at every film festival and in every movie house interested in showing her work…but she is definitely taking pause to appreciate everything as it is unfolding. “So much of my life has been about this moment,” she declares, clearly moved. “All the hiding, the fear, the feeling that people wouldn’t accept me. I cried so much making this film, I gushed buckets and buckets. I’ve learned to love and appreciate these people so much more from hearing their words and learning more about them in the process.”

For more information on the film and to view the trailer, please visit the She’s A Boy I Knew official website.

Written by Denise Sheppard

Denise Sheppard (scribe at shaw dot ca) is a self-employed journalist/editor who likes long walks, candlelit dinners and writing for U.S and Canadian national mags and websites. Her fave topics are human rights-related pieces and entertainment journalism.

An Interview with Beth Arentsen

New York singer/songwriter Beth Arentsen is the girl next door, that is if you live in an art school dorm. With the kooky flair for the dramatic and piano prowess of Tori Amos along with the thoughtful lyrics and business acumen of Ani DiFranco, Arentsen has moved confidently from her work as the lead singer in the jazz/funk/electronica band P-1 to her recent, more personal solo CD, Sap. Arentsen passed through Chicago in late July, alighting at the upscale coffeehouse Uncommon Ground where she took a few minutes to chat with me as the cafe clattered and murmured around us.

Queerky.com - I understand you attended Tisch School of the Arts in New York. That’s a unique school.

Beth Arentsen - Yeah, actually before I went to Tisch I was studying classical piano at Rutgers and I got really burnt out. I knew my chops were never great enough to be a classical pianist so I took a year off. I was singing with this woman named Liz Swados and she said, “You know what, I really think you should try this experimental theatre program at Tisch. It would incorporate your writing skills and singing.”

Q:- So were you interested in theatre?

BA - In my early twenties I was writing self-scripted theatre pieces about women. I would perform these pieces in character and then I would play on piano the song that represented the piece, like monologues. I love connecting with the audience through these more storytelling pieces. I really explored (acting) as much as possible. It was a natural progression where I went from acting and singing separately and then I thought, “Hey I can do it all at once.”

Q: - I read on your Myspace page that you’ve played to standing room only crowds at New York clubs like The Living Room. Does New York feel like home to you performance-wise?

BA - I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, like where is home? Home for me is a few places. It’s definitely the East Village of New York but it’s also in New Jersey ’cause that’s where I grew up so I’m really drawn to the country and the ocean. And I spent most of my early life on a boat. My parents are divorced; growing up on a boat really influenced my life, so being on an island is really great because I always have the sea around me. I also love Chicago. I’ve been performing here with my other band P-1 for four years and I love this city because it’s so acoustic — it’s like a deep breath. There’s a lot more soul here right now than there is in Manhattan. (The New York scene) is a very commercialized, pay-to-play type of thing, not a lot of serious art in my opinion. It’s a touring town, whereas in Chicago wherever you are, at any club, there’s something interesting going on. Not that I look down on New York, but a lot of New Yorkers feel like, “Oh God, this is it. I can never leave. I’m here for life.” I bought an old house in New Jersey and I’m living there part time and people are like, “Are you nuts? You’re gonna change,” but I feel so inspired by nature out there and relaxed, so I’m actually writing more.

Q: - Speaking of writing, what’s your process like? Is there a certain time of day you write best?

BA - I’m a morning person. The first thing I’ll do is go downstairs and I’ll sit at the piano and I’ll just ask myself, “Are you gonna say anything today? Is anything gonna be there?” I usually write the songs that speak the most to me in like two minutes. I always write the music first and then I trust that something is there to be said. It just happens really fast again like with that morning coffee. I’ll be tinkering at the piano and then it’s like, “Wow! What a great idea.” But if I have nothing to say I’m not gonna push it. I don’t really put that much pressure on myself anymore. I might go to work or go to the beach. I sort of need to have a whole day, like start a little in the morning and come back at night. It’s like studying, you’re like, “Wow I really retained this and it’s even better and I can go forward here.” So, I’m good in the morning and at night but I’m very uncreative during the day.

Q: - You mentioned teaching. I assume that means you have a day job.

BA - I actually went back to work at NYU as the events coordinator for a couple of years, working with young artists. Then I felt like it was time to work full time on promoting my album and touring, but I still teach at a not-for-profit in Harlem. I created a music program for kids.

Q: - Back to your writing. As a writer, do you feel like you return to certain themes?

BA - Always nautical themes, again the ocean is so calming for me, so I think all of my songs about the ocean are very nostalgic, they bring me back to a place. I write about women. Women really interest me — characters and history. I write about this one woman Penelope who was a Dutch settler who moved to New Jersey and she was attacked by Native Americans who didn’t want any more settlers, and she was sliced in half, and legend has it that she pulled herself into a tree and healed and went on to create generations of families on the Jersey shore. Supposedly they can trace back that it was her descendants who developed my town. In the part of New Jersey I’m from, every street is named after these Native Americans, and you can find little arrow heads on the ground, there’s a lot of culture, but you’re not spoon-fed, you have to go out and find it and then you realize, wow, I’m on sacred ground here. I’m really intrigued by the cultures of the New York/New Jersey area and that’s in a lot of my writing too.

Q: - When you look back at your old songs do you feel embarrassed or do you feel like they hold up?

BA - A lot of old songs do fall out of favor. I did a demo when I was 25 but I only put one of those songs on Sap. But actually I’m rewriting a song that I wrote when I was really young, like 15. I found all of these lyrics sheets I used to write. A lot of artists will tell you that they just write music, play stuff, improvise, and that years later they incorporate all of that into new songs, so that’s sort of what I’m doing right now.

Q: - You have a pretty strong gay following. Was that audience base something you consciously pursued?

BA - Good question. I don’t think it was ever a conscious choice, choosing my fan base. Who comes to your first shows when you’re starting out - your friends, and they bring friends, and before you know it you’re getting invites to play everywhere and that’s basically it. I never purposely seek out anything. I truly believe that you surround yourself with similar folk who share your ideas and passions.

Q: - Changing the subject, I wondered how you think being a woman has affected your experience as a musician.

BA - You know it’s funny, I feel like sometimes when I’m singing backup in other bands or lead vocals for P-1, people don’t trust that I may have written the songs, and in the business I’ve had a lot of experience with guys who are wining and dining me and they just want to string me along, but you know in the first ten seconds. When I was younger I didn’t know, but at this point I’ve had enough experience to know when someone’s serious or when it’s bullshit. You can get abused if you’re vulnerable in this industry. I’m sure it happens to guys too, but there’s something about being a young female in this industry that they just wanna rip you apart. This business you know, it’s all about marketing and again people are like, “Women and money? No way!”

Q: - Is that really still the case?

BA - Yeah I think so. I think people are still like, “You need a good manager. A guy, an old guy…” But women, we can get a lot done just going out there and using our sass and charm and just, you know, saying, this is what I want to offer the world.

Q: - Other than being charming and sassy, do you have a specific business vision?

BA - Right now I’m on my own label but I’m hoping to secure distribution. I’m on iTunes and CD Baby. I’m looking to be in stores but I’m not too concerned with getting signed. I’m most concerned about developing my fan base out of New York, out of little regional pockets, and playing more retail stores, more store fronts, more indie cafes. If someone wants to sign me, if I’m lucky enough to have a label that will really support me and if I get to work with really creative fabulous people, that’d be great, but I’m going to be choosy.

Q: - You seem really goal-oriented and centered, like you really know your way around the industry. Has it always been that way?

BA - (Laughs) I was rolling around at the piano and in theatre when I was 21. I was like Karen Finley in mud and feathers, and I remember when I worked at Universal Pictures in the publicity department, one of the head publicists really liked me. I was 19, and she came to my show, and she brought a really important reviewer for the New York Times, and he wrote a synopsis of my one-woman show and he wrote, “I don’t know what I just watched, but I know Beth Arentsen has a lot of potential.” And at the time, I cried convulsively like, “Oh my God, he doesn’t understand my art!” But at the end of the day, someone saw in me potential. It’s character building. If I’d gotten signed to a major label at 19, God knows where I’d be. I had nothing to say back then, I mean I did, but I didn’t know how to say it. Now it’s like not only do I know what I want to say but I’m able to arrange and play my songs — performing is so different from just writing. Not every writer is a performer, and I’m in a really good place right now. I’m very confident, and even when I’m totally insecure and freaked out and nervous, I just know that I have a really good support system, and it’s just music. It’s not brain surgery.

For more information on Beth Arentsen, including tour dates, song downloads and her latest video for the single, Sap, please visit her homepage or her Myspace page.

Written by Sarah Terez Rosenblum

Sarah Terez Rosenblum spent the last four years of her life in Los Angeles and plans to return even though she hated it. She will be thirty in two years. Thank God she’ll have received her MFA in Creative Writing by then. That way, even though she’ll still be lacking any real idea of what she wants to do with her life, at least she’ll be massively in debt. You can contact her at zeret18@gmail.com or visit her at myspace.com/raininariver. You can also buy her a pony. She’s always wanted one.

Photo courtesy of Patty V Michels.

The Top 10 Lesbian Vehicular Preferences

Dykes and their cars. Our vehicles are more than just a mode of transportation; more than even a fashion statement — the choices we make about our cars are true lifestyle decisions. The process is a form of self-expression, and largely the reason automakers like Subaru and Mercedes are falling all over themselves to appear in LGBT programming like The L Word. Who’da thought that we’d have so much purchasing power in this day and age? Whether you’re looking for a new ride or just a good laugh, check out our guide to the Top 10 Lesbian Vehicular Preferences.

The Subaru Forester. Yes, I know it’s cliche, but please tell me you don’t know one single lesbian with a Subaru Forester. That’s what I thought. They’re almost as ubiquitous as lesbians named Jen, or, better yet, Jenn. Better gas mileage than real SUVs yet too cool to be a wagon, the Forester is the vehicle of choice for dykes everywhere, from Guatemalan tot-toting Mommas and Mommies to sporty dykes who actually use that Thule roof rack.

The Jeep Grand Cherokee. A few possible reasons exist for the presence of the Grand Cherokee on this list, not the least of which is the theory that the women who now own Jeep Grand Cherokees are the ones who either had — or desperately coveted — Jeep Wranglers ten or fifteen years ago. On-the-go with muscles and perpetual tans, these ladies at 25 couldn’t resist the desire for wind-blown hair and sand in their crevices as they off-roaded to their next adventure. Now about 35-40 years old, they have too many dogs, too many home improvement projects, and may have just plain outgrown the Wrangler, but the Jeep lifestyle still captures their hearts. Also covers dykes with a Jeep Liberty or Jeep Commander.

The Harley Davidson Motorcycle. Dykes on Bikes have a place in Gay Pride Parades for a reason — a girl on a motorcycle is hot. Think Chloe Sevingy in If These Walls Could Talk II.

Hello? Are you still with me? You have a little bit of drool right — yeah, right there, let me go get you a hanky.

Now, then. Even better, and more important for those not as good lookin’ as Chloe, is the fact that a girl on a motorcycle is hot, even when said girl is not hot independently of the bike. Think of the bulldyke who was the grand poobah of the Dykes on Bikes at the last Pride parade you went to.

Oh, that was you? Yeah, uh, sorry about that. Next…

The Hand-Me-Down Honda. This one is for the baby dykes… and for lesbians working in the social justice field. That old Accord that got passed down from your grandpa to your brother to your cousin to you when you were 17? You’re still drivin’ it, aren’tcha? It’s a cruel fact in life that women generally make less money than men, and it’s crueler that the head of a women’s shelter likely makes less than a guy straight out of college. Not ones to wallow in financial sorrow, however, these dykes wear their Xzibit-craving rides like badges of honor, gleefully poking their pens through rust patches when no one’s looking and plastering the tailgate with a collage of witty bumper stickers railing on W and promoting the local NPR station.

The Energy Star Bicycle. For those dykes who have chosen to personally bear the burden of our dependence upon foreign oil and the harming of our environment, our gas caps are off to you. We couldn’t admire more your dedication to zero emissions, save for the flatulence associated with raw food diets, and we are truly grateful for your sacrifice. Just don’t ask me to help you move into your new apartment with my truck and then cuss me out two months later for contributing so to global warming.

The Ford Mustang Convertible. As the obligatory convertible on the list, the Mustang is also a very flexible accessory for expressing a girl’s identity. Its rich muscle car heritage, a la classic films such as Bullitt, makes going somewhere in drag so convincing that other girls will be reaching for that package quicker than you can say “Mr. Bendy.” On the other hand, its retro design makes it trendy enough for lipstick femmes, particularly when one chooses the Windveil Blue Clearcoat Metallic because it matches her favorite Kate Spade handbag. For the girls who truly love to drive, this is also the right pick — still rightfully rear-wheel drive, the ‘Stang packs a powerful punch even at the base model level, and Ford has tamed a lot of the handling quirks inherent in the early models after which this car is styled.

The Volvo S60. Also known as The Corporate Ladder Car (and therefore also applies to BMWs, Audis and Jaguars), we chose a Volvo specifically because it sounds uncannily similar to the name of a certain area of female genitalia. The current S60 is essentially a Mazda 6 for those of you who are looking for a little more “oomph” as you crash through that glass ceiling. Sure, the rest of our community might call you a “sell-out” for donning lipstick and pantyhose even on the hottest days, but they don’t realize that holding positions of power as lesbians does just as much, if not more, for our cause than waving rainbow flags and sporting mullets. Just don’t forget to add the Bluetooth option — time is money, baby.

The Mini Cooper. We’ll refrain from stealing all of our ideas from The L Word (the Chrysler 300? Really?), but the Mini Cooper definitely deserves its place among the top cars for dykes, all the more thanks to Alice’s manic car chase of Dana. Classic. Sure, you can deny it, but doesn’t just a little part of you want to chase after your ex through the streets of LA? In a Mini Cooper? Especially if she’s as smokin’ as Dana?

The Mini’s famous “go-kart handling” helps bob and weave through traffic as expertly as a flyweight boxer, its new Bluetooth connectivity helping you communicate hands-free with your prey. Order one with optional DVD navigation and get a heads-up as to where your ex might end up should she lose the tail. For all you particularly crazy girls or those of you with exes driving higher-end, sportier cars (don’t feel bad if that’s the case, I’d be chasing her too), try the Mini Cooper S with the John Cooper Works package, or better yet, the Mini Mania Stage III kit. Lots more horsepower and a souped-up suspension will help you keep up.

The Boring, High-Volume Fleet Car. Some girls just don’t really care all that much about cars. Late model Chevy Impalas, Ford Tauruses and Toyota Corollas abound with this crowd, members of which adamantly assert that cars are meant to get us from Point A to Point B — what’s the sense in worrying about what it looks like? This type of car also likely sits, near-abandoned and only fired up when absolutely necessary, out in front of houses occupied by dykes in The Energy Star Bicycle category.

The Honda Ridgeline. Ahhhh, we’ve been waiting years for someone to design a pickup worthy of our U-Hauls and trips to Home Depot! After having been stuck with F-150s for so long, it will sure be nice not to be mistaken for Cousin Ed’s 16-year old son Elmer when cherry-picking wood out in the country for a lesbian-approved bonfire. Of course, you could have left that John Deere hat with the creased bill back at the camp site and actually put a shirt on under those overalls, but we’re not ones to judge. Much. Especially if you’re willing to share the beers on ice you’ve got in the cooler built into the truck bed. Gotta love Honda for that one — it’s like they were thinking of no one other than lesbians and our love of Miller Lite.

So, there you have it, girls! Let’s flex our purchasing power muscles and buy us some new rides!

Written by Erin Mays

Erin Mays is a freelance writer in Ferndale, Michigan, covering automobiles for online publications such as Autoblog.com and Luxist. An avid fan of speedy German cars, she decided to forgo the Mini Cooper S with the Mini Mania Stage III kit in favor of a Tangerine Metallic Honda Element, which her 90 lb. dog Chas much prefers.

An Interview with Chris Pureka

Back in December, I did time at a feminist bookstore. Our music stock was limited, a little Ani DiFranco here, a little Holly Near there, however store policy dictated that we could only spin CDs from the artists we sold. As the holiday season slowly sputtered to a stop, our staff, exhausted and cranky from long hours, irate customers, and the constant pressure of selling enough product to keep the store on its feet for another year, could only agree on one thing: if we had to listen to the same artist all day, it had to be Chris Pureka. The New England native’s vocals, both stark and soothing, were at once a backdrop and a focal point for our chaotic shifts; they simultaneously calmed us and intrigued our customers. Needless to say, Dryland, Chris Pureka’s latest release, was one of our top sellers.

While Driving North, released in 2004 is lovely; ruminative and haunting, Dryland, which hit stores in 2006, is evidence of Chris’s impressive artistic trajectory. As a writer, Chris travels ever inward. She manages to write from an internal place of intense vulnerability and specificity without ever excluding her audience. Instead, the personal nature of her music and the exactitude of her vision radiate out like spokes on an emotional wheel, providing multiple points of contact for her fans’ feelings and experiences to intersect with hers.

Recently, during a much needed respite from her grueling touring schedule, Chris took time to chat with me. We touched on a multitude of subjects, from her former job as a lab assistant at Smith College to her preference for boxers over briefs. However, it was this topic - the intensity of her writing and her consequential connection with her fans - to which we circled continuously back.

Queerky: First of all, thank you so much for taking time to talk.

Chris Pureka: No problem. I have a lot of down time right now. (laughs)

Q: Right off the bat I gotta ask you a serious question - boxers or briefs?

CP: Boxers.

Q: Now that we got that out of the way, let’s talk about your background. You have a degree in biology and you worked as a lab assistant. What compelled you to exchange such a secure, practical career for the quixotic life of a musician?

CP: I didn’t make the transition from scientist to musician overnight. I spent four years working in a lab but the whole time I was also working on music. I was aware of the ways in which having a day job was holding back (but) I didn’t actually leave that job until I was busy enough with music that I thought that I could make it work full time.

Q: Have you ever regretted that choice?

CP: (No) especially because I don’t think of it as irreversible. If in the next ten years I decide that I really want to do science again, I would do that.

Q: You list Gillian Welch, Ryan Adams, Patty Griffin, Kris Delmhorst, Peter Mulvey, Paul Simon, and Josh Ritter as influences. Have your influences changed over time? Who did you grow up listening to?

CP: Definitely. When I was growing up I listened to The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens. When I got older I listened to a lot of the alternative rock that came out of the 90’s - REM, Counting Crows, Toad the Wet Sprocket. Toad was actually my favorite band in high school. I listened to a lot of Ani DiFranco too. When I got to college I was introduced to the smaller indie artists that hadn’t been on my radar when I was younger, Dar Williams, Peter Mulvey, Melissa Ferrick, Kris Delmhorst, Martin Sexton, to name a few. Since then, I have been discovering the Alt-Country/Americana and indie scenes so my most recent influences are folks like Gillian Welch and Ryan Adams.

Q: Talk a little but about your writing process. Do you write every day? Only when inspired?

CP: I am pretty far removed from my writing process right now, which is sad. I have been touring so much that I haven’t had any time at all to work on new songs. That is something that I have found really hard about being a full-time musician. Usually I’ll work on writing and playing everyday for a few hours. Then eventually riffs and melodies evolve into songs. Most of my songs do come from a specific point of inspiration or intensity. I definitely use music as a cathartic process and a way to work through something emotional.

Q: Do you find you censor your writing either because you don’t want to hurt or expose someone in your life or because you feel like your fans have grown to expect a certain style from you?

CP: I have always censored myself a lot - but it is usually just trying to keep the bar high musically and lyrically. I only release or play a fraction of the songs that I write and I like to keep to that standard. I think that people that release every song they write usually end up releasing a lot of bad songs. I am a big fan of editing.

Q: Your fans relate to you in large part because of the personal nature of your lyrics, but I assume your identity also contributes to their allegiance. How do you define and why?

CP: I define myself as “queer” because it has implications in terms of gender and not just sexuality and also because it seems more political in nature.

Q: I’ve heard your music characterized as “womens’ music.” How do you feel about that phrase?

CP: I don’t favor labels like “lesbian musician” or “women’s music.” I think that those labels have specific implications that tend to pigeonhole artists. I define myself as a singer/songwriter. As an out musician I have a specific relationship with the queer community and I am constantly grateful for the loyalty and support that I have found there. Still, first and foremost I am a musician. I happen to be queer. My sexuality does not define my music and I don’t write songs about being queer. I am also not writing music for the queer community. I am writing music that I hope that a lot of people can relate to.

Q: Lesbians make fierce, loyal fans. On the surface this is a positive situation, but I wondered if you feel like having such a strong lesbian fan base has held you back in any way.

CP: There’s this escalating thing that happens, where the queer community is extremely loyal and that can really deter a wider audience. It’s unfortunate that it is that way. I think even more mainstream people can find themselves in a similar situation. For example, I feel like Dave Matthews ended up with the reputation of having a frat boy following. I liked Dave Matthews but at a certain point, that deterred me from listening more. I feel like people get hit with a label, these are their fans, and people that don’t identify with that label get deterred from being their fans. It’s the same in queer culture. I’ve seen straight people really connect to my music and then come to my show and feel alienated and not come back, and I hate that. That’s a really strong word but it’s frustrating. But that’s what happens when you come out. There are a lot of queer artists who don’t come out and you’re like, “Why aren’t you out? Come out!” because if they all did, it would be less extreme, it would dissipate the effect, but because people stay closeted the people who do come out end up taking on all of the energy from the queer community. It’s just a theory, but I feel like it makes sense.

Q: You mentioned relating to the label queer because of its political implications. Do you feel like as a queer performer there’s pressure for you to be overtly political?

CP: Yeah, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s not what I do. I can be insightful in specific ways and that’s just not one of the ways that I’m insightful. I’m interested in music for the sake of music, not for a political outlet.

Q: Speaking again of writing versus performing, I have this theory that the writing impulse and the impulse to perform are pretty radically different and that writers are not necessarily natural performers and obviously vice versa. If you had to define yourself as either a writer or performer which label would you prefer to own? Why?

CP: I think that you are entirely correct. I think that it takes some very, very different skills to be able to write versus being able to perform - and not everyone that is good at one will be good at the other. I definitely identify more with being a writer. I think that I am naturally a more introverted person, so the need to be in the public eye hasn’t always appealed to me. I used to get really nervous before I would play. But that just meant that I had to work harder at being a performer.

Q: As an artist you tend to produce raw, emotionally charged songs. What is it like for you to go out night after night and present such honest, vulnerable work?

CP: It is an extremely vulnerable thing to do to put your emotional and personal thoughts out there for public scrutiny. It is always really hard the first few times that I play out a new song. Sometimes the act of performing a song will be cathartic and feel almost necessary. But there are definitely times when I really don’t feel like I want to share my experience. Those are often days when I would rather just be working on writing.

Q: So let’s say it’s one of those days where you just think, “I cannot play Compass Rose, I cannot be this vulnerable.” Do you alter your set list?

CP: I alter set lists based more on if there’s a show where there’s a specific energy people are interested in. There are two kinds of shows I play, one is a listening show where people are being quiet and attentive - that’s what I prefer - so I’ll play songs that work in that context. But there are definitely shows where I feel like people are there for a social reason, and it needs to be a more upbeat set. There are shows where I’m in a really bad mood and don’t want to play but then I end up having a really good show. There are also shows where that doesn’t happen, but you just have to take it as it comes because we plan our lives three months in advance, and you can’t change your mind at last second.

Q: Back to performing, arguably a performer/fan relationship is largely one sided; a performer puts out work; a fan relates and responds, and ends up feeling like she really knows the performer. What do you think about this dynamic? What sort of relationship are you comfortable having with your fans? Has anyone tried to push your boundaries?

CP: People do feel like they know me in a specific way, and I get it, I understand it. For the most part people are really respectful. There have been times where I feel like people have crossed the line, for instance people will be like, “Oh you should come have drinks with us,” and that’s fine, but sometimes I’ll be like “Nah, I’m cool, no thanks.” And sometimes people will really press the issue. I don’t appreciate that. People I don’t know will e-mail me and will be like, “Do you want to have dinner after your show?” and that just doesn’t make sense to me, and the Myspace thing makes people feel a lot closer than they would have ten years ago. I don’t have a problem with people asking me to hang out, that’s not the issue, it’s more like when people don’t respect me or try to push me - even physical boundaries, sometimes people feel like they can touch me and I’m like, “Don’t do that.” Sometimes people will be like, “Can I have a hug?” and that’s cute, but if they don’t ask first it can be weird.

Q: Can you relate at all to where your fans are coming from? For example, are there performers to whom you relate in a fanatical way?

CP: Growing up, you know like when I was fifteen, there were people I really admired. I understand that side of things really well. I feel like if I met my favorite artists now - I can’t really say how I would feel if I weren’t a performer - but I pretty much would want to shake their hand and be like, “Hey, cool, nice to meet you.” Actually, one of my favorite songwriters is Ryan Adams. I was in New York one time and he came into a bar I was at, and I was so excited but I couldn’t…I actually felt so strongly about performer boundaries that I didn’t even say anything and I actually regret that. I feel like there’s a compromise, a middle ground that needs to be met, there’s obviously an acceptable way to communicate with someone you like, so I feel like my reaction was actually extreme.

Q: Let’s talk a little about the business side of things. Dryland is self-released - I’m assuming that’s a hard option, but probably a freeing one. What are the pros and cons of that choice?

CP: I feel like the way I’ve been doing things - totally independent, (has) been working for me pretty well. At this point I’m inclined to stick with that. I have to work a lot harder to get to the same place (as artists signed to major labels), but if I get there, I have a lot more control, and I make more of a profit. I’ve been doing this for six, seven years, and I see people who started a year ago and signed to a major, and they’re where I am now. That can be hard to witness. With a major, you’re basically paying for opportunities to get your music out there, which is ultimately what everyone wants. It’s frustrating when I feel like I’m overlooked cause I’m not a priority in the press or in the venues. But I want all of my decisions to be my decisions - that’s really liberating. I’m particularly interested in not having pressure to release a record at a specific time. I already feel pressure just from myself and my fan base to constantly be writing all the time, and if there was a label that was like, “You need a record out by October,” I would hate that and it wouldn’t work with my personality. Basically, I’m comfortable where I am, but if a smaller label came along, I would be willing (to sign with them) if it made sense.

Q: Can you take us through a day in your life when you’re on tour?

CP: Wake up, get coffee, drive, drive, drive. Get to destination, unload the gear, sound check, eat something, play the show, drink something, find a hotel, sleep: repeat. Touring can be really great when you don’t have to play a show every single night. If it is a packed schedule, then there isn’t really any time to enjoy all the cool places you get to go, and you are literally sleeping in a different bed every night. It is also very, very tiring.

Q: When you come home from touring is it a hard transition?

CP: Yeah, I think that when I first come home, especially if its been a long tour, there’s a little bit of adjustment that needs to happen. It feels weird to be so still all of a sudden. Now that I’ve been doing it for a long time, it’s easier, the adjustment is faster. But when you first get home from a long tour you’re always like, “I can never do that again.” A lot of people will do two weeks, then home, and that’s a lot more manageable. I mostly don’t do that. If I’m gonna drive to Nashville, I might as well do Atlanta and all the cities that are down there cause otherwise you gotta spend the money on gas to get back there next time. It’s always a struggle to be at a financial place where you can afford to take more time off.

Q: Well, thank you so much. I think that’s all I need.

CP: You could write my biography at this point.

There are certainly worse ways to pass the time.

For more information on Chris Pureka, including tour dates and streaming audio, please visit her homepage or her little corner of Myspace.

Written by Sarah Terez Rosenblum

Sarah Terez Rosenblum spent the last four years of her life in Los Angeles and plans to return even though she hated it. She will be thirty in two years. Thank God she’ll have received her MFA in Creative Writing by then. That way, even though she’ll still be lacking any real idea of what she wants to do with her life, at least she’ll be massively in debt. You can contact her zeret18@gmail.com or visit her at myspace.com/raininariver. You can also buy her a pony. She’s always wanted one.

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