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of lesbian music might bring to mind the image of womyn/wimmin/women with mullet haircuts and plaid jackets singing outdated folk songs on their acoustic guitars, holding each other tight while crying and singing about wombs and waterfalls.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

Because I said so!

Do as I say, not as I do. Whoever first said it, I’m sure she was somebody’s mother. Sometimes it seems like one of the primary tenets of parenting survival. Other times, it stinks of double standards, hypocrisy, and the head-in-the-quicksand approach to parenting - the “if I just assume my children’s lives aren’t as complex as mine, this will all be easier” route. Sometimes it is a reasonable solution. Stretching an allowance to cover new Pokemon cards and a candy bar is not the same as budgeting a mortgage, utilities, and putting groceries on the table. But what am I really saying when I deny my daughter the extra dollar she needs, give the lecture on not spending money you don’t have, and then whip out the plastic at the checkout? Where’s that line?

“No biting!” I admonish my son, reminding him sharply that I have no tolerance for animals or children that bite. Then I catch my significant other smirking quietly while reading the Sunday comics, and my mind flashes to the deep bruise on soft flesh barely covered by her t-shirt. No biting without consent is what I really mean, I tell myself, but I’m not going to sit here and try to explain the particulars of consent to my six-year-old. I’m big on consent as a concept with my kids, having reinforced a consistent no-means-no message ever since they could comprehend. As a parent, though, one has to stick with the “pain is bad” message, even as the irony oozes around the edges.

Parenting is about setting boundaries, creating safe space, and protecting our young. From the cupboard latches and padded corners of the toddler’s world to the curfews and over-the-shoulder computer monitoring of older kids, we remain ever vigilant against the bad, scary forces of evil out there in the world. So many things could go wrong. The implication is constant: to be a Good Parent you’d better anticipate all of the things that could go wrong. An entire industry of products and services has developed to help you. Childproofing services, Net-nanny software, home drug testing kits, and cell phones for children with GPS tracking built in. And the list goes on: movie and video game ratings, car seats and even car seat inspection stations. None of us want to be the parent on the six o’clock news. ‘NEVER LEAVE CHILD UNATTENDED’ said the sticker on the car seat I brought my tiny baby home from the hospital in. Never? I remember thinking… Never?!

Safe space is easy to define as a new parent, when one is talking about baby gates and padding sharp corners. It gets harder, and slopes rapidly toward the hypocrite’s quicksand, as they get older and safe space becomes a discussion about behaviors, choices, and associations. These days, the four horsemen of adolescence’s apocalypse are alcohol, drugs, sex, and the horrors of the Internet. You can lose a kid to any of these, or more importantly, a kid can lose him or herself. As a parent, somehow creating a safe path through those influences is as clear an imperative as locking up the cleaning products and putting away the matches was just a few years earlier. The question then becomes, what exactly is safe?

One of the things I delighted in most about coming out (besides getting to have sex with the ladies, of course), was the feeling of being freed from all the expectations of being ‘normal’. I had hopped off the prix fixe menu of life (boyfriend, fiancee, husband, motherhood, etc.), and could choose my route a la carte. Or, as I once explained, I was already a fuck up, so what did it matter if I got another tattoo. But here in Mommyland, I’m ever alert that the route I consider my ‘normal’ may be outside other people’s safe space. Occasionally, I wonder whether it is even outside my own safe space.

Sometimes I look around at my assorted friends and associates and among us we read like a laundry list of parental hazard warnings: Use of alcohol, sometimes to excess? Check. Recreational drug use? Check. Casual sex? Check. Forming relationships with strangers on the Internet? Check. I know, I know… so far it sounds like fun, right? And it goes on! Non-traditional relationships? Check. Pornography? Check (both making it and looking at it). Body mods and funky hair colors? Check. It goes on.

So where exactly will I find that safe space I, as a responsible parent, must create for my kids? How do I create it without treading into the do-as-I-say quicksand? I can’t pretend that the scary things out there don’t exist, because I know that for lots of folks, I’m one of them. Try explaining that to your kid sometime.

Actually, I find I explain a lot. I explain about the different choices people make. I teach about treating people decently and requiring that others do the same of you. I periodically throw in the preachy moral lesson about non-equivocal things like drinking and driving. And bike helmets. In general, I try to remember that the farther my head is in the sand, the sooner my kids will write me off as stupid.

At times, I do catch myself wishing for nice, normal paths through life for them, and then just as quickly remember how badly I chafed at “normal”. Still, who am I to deny them normal if it is where they truly fit into the world? While my observation has been that children of queer parents have a sort of heightened awareness of their own individuality, I suppose it is entirely possible I’ll have kids who never question their sexuality. They could grow up, get married, move to the suburbs and vote Republican. At that point all my lessons on tolerance and agreeing to disagree will really come home to roost.

So, “Model the behavior you wish to see in your child” is the modern parenting mantra that rings in my head as I harangue them about dishes left in the playroom while hurriedly clearing five days of coffee cups off my desk. I know full well that actions speak louder than words, but consistent follow through, she’s a bitch. The follow through becomes more important though as the reliance on baby-proofing declines. When a discussion with one of my boys about how anything covered by a bathing suit is personal space and other people are NOT allowed to touch you there was countered by a challenge from him, “Then how come She (my S.O.) touches you on the booty all the time?” I both laughed and cringed. Mostly though, I liked it that he felt he could call me on my shit.

We’re still in the thick of modeling behavior and setting boundaries, but I know that not far down the road, they’ll be on their own; having to set their own limits and define their own safe space. Then my job as a parent will be to back off, and cross my fingers that, while they may not do it the way I would, and it can’t be the pain- and worry-free existence that I as their mom might wish for them, they’ll find their way through. I’d really be a hypocrite if I didn’t.

Written by Darby Blue

Don’t Scare the Mommies

Identity. It is a fundamental human construct. It’s interesting to watch my kids move from the puppy dog-level questions of “Who are you?” and “What’s that?” to the infinitely more complex question of “Who am I?” But unlike being able to name “ducky!” and “kitty!” for them, “Who am I?” is a question they’ll have to struggle lifelong to answer for themselves. Sometimes I can barely answer it for myself.

“Mom,” says the apron I wear in the kitchen when I’m cooking something particularly spattery or messy. A number of very thoughtful writers have explored what happens to individual identity when one makes the jump into parenthood. In my quest to understand this process, I read lots of them. Having done the coming out thing previous to parenthood, the process of transition, of crossing over, was at least a little familiar. That is, if the total unknown can ever be described as familiar, and whoever gave you directions was a little drunk, and then it snowed so the whole place looks different anyway.

But I’m not the only one who has seen the similarities between these processes. Meg Wolitzer’s essay in a book on new motherhood describes that period of indoctrination into motherhood with a story about a friend of hers, who (yes I’m going to quote it for you, shush): “had realized she was a lesbian, and partook of everything gay or lesbian-related she could find. She joined groups, she marched for miles, she stuffed envelopes, and she had lots and lots of sex with women. Then, after a while, she didn’t need to remind herself she was a lesbian so often, and even when she wasn’t reminding herself, the title stuck.” We stalk, capture, and eventually inhabit these new identities, until it’s no longer that we are them, we are just us.

Neat and tidy. I have a baby, I become a parent, I am Mom. Great. But wait… am I still a lesbian? I look up at Wolitzer’s list and notice marching for miles, stuffing envelopes, and having lots and lots of sex with women doesn’t seem to have much to do with breastfeeding and diapers and which sippy cup doesn’t leak. Even now that I’m out of those years, the list also doesn’t have much to do with making school lunches, arranging playovers, and being the homework bitch. Sometimes these identities don’t play nicely together at all. Sometimes the juxtaposition is awkward. Unfortunately, it is identity we’re talking about, and stifling any part of it, especially a hard-fought-for queerness, will only work for so long.

Some lesbian mothers, usually happily coupled ones, settle graciously within motherhood. Both the earth mothers and the overachievers delightedly trade their cats for offspring with opposable thumbs. Others of us feel each identity grate on the other like cogs that just don’t mesh. I found myself pondering recently while driving carpool that I know a number of queer mommies with pierced nips. Well, I do! Then I realized I cannot imagine any of the straight mommies I know even contemplating such a thing. I know it’s just as likely they have blindfolds and riding crops in their closets, and yet, that still falls so much more clearly into queer identity than motherhood. Although the blindfold comes in handy for the birthday party Pin the Tail on the Donkey games!

Thus I juggle these two equally legitimate but sometimes quarrelsome facets of my own queer mommyhood. I’m the one who is always on edge when reading at the local x-rated open mic, alert in case one of the school mommies stops into the women’s bookstore for a book on sensitive parenting. I’m the one debating whether wearing that stylish skirt would tip me into anyone’s femme column. This queer parenting thing constantly requires one to work for balance between Somewhat Hip Dyke and Responsible Mommy, elbowing new spaces into both roles. The compromises show up in odd places.

For a number of years now, since I’ve worn my hair cut short again, I’ve implored my stylist with one simple warning: cut it as short as you want, but please, don’t scare the mommies — because of course it’s one thing to be a little edgy, to be (whispered) gay, to wear boots instead of sneakers and button-flys instead of track pants. But you don’t want to scare the other mommies. The tricky thing about motherhood is that your identity is no longer just about you. If you scare the mommies, your children don’t have playovers anymore. Even if they have friends at school, their social sphere does not extend outside school hours.

My eldest attended a Catholic school in suburban Chicago for three of her tender years. I scared the mommies a lot. We had ended up there after a couple of bad preschool experiences with a very challenging little person. The school was very good to her, absence of playovers excepted. It was very bad for me. I was not managing much balance in those days, and turned my identity inside out trying not to scare the mommies. Long hair. Nail polish. Skorts! But to no avail. I’ll never forget the time one of the other Girl Scout mommies pulled her daughter out of the restroom as I walked in with mine, saying, “No, no! I don’t want you in there while she’s in there.”

Now we’re in a relatively welcoming environment, and even though I’m somewhat more a one-mommy family than a two-mommy family, it’s amazing to me to find two-mommy kids on our Tee Ball teams, or families at the PTA meetings. I know most of this world doesn’t have that luxury. Still, we definitely have that see-how-tolerant-I-am minority status in some ways. You find us on the periphery, worker bees, but not part of the mommies and daddies social scene. My kids have friends; they even get to have their friends sleep over without anyone balking at their exposure to The Gay. The balance, while not perfect, is much more livable. But I decided to put my identity dichotomy on the line recently when I conducted a small social experiment.

The school’s annual Sock Hop is a dress-up affair. Boys in white t-shirts and rolled up jeans, girls in poodle skirts and pony tails. There’s the occasional girl in white shirt and jeans, though I’ve never seen a boy there in a poodle skirt. Hmm. My hair has been growing unchecked all winter, partly from procrastination and partly for warmth. I’ve kept it mostly tucked under caps and hats. I don’t like the way it looks as it creeps mullety down the back of my neck. For the occasion, however, I blew it all fluffy dry, tied a flowery scarf round my head, put on scarlet lipstick and wore an old pair of ballet flats with my cardigan and jeans. I wasn’t ten feet inside the door when the compliments started. I was grabbed. And gushed over. And told how amazing I looked. The mommies kibitzed that I must grow it out. One of the dads told me he didn’t even recognize me. That’s because I didn’t look like me, I looked like one of them! And I am. That apron, it still says, “Mom”.

But I’m getting my hair cut next week.

Written by Darby Blue

I was impregnated by a woman in lime-green stretch pants

I was talking with my son this morning about the kids’ movie, Enchanted. He said he didn’t want to see it because a woman dies in the movie. He continued by describing a scene from a commercial where the princess bites into an apple and then falls down, appearing to be dead. I looked at him and reminded him that it’s like Snow White, and she’s not actually dead. “Snow Who?” he said. Which just reminded me that sometimes you’ve got to know the back story, the history (or, excuse me, I’m over 40, herstory), for things to make sense. Sometimes you have to begin at the beginning.

For lots of people the story is one we all know by heart: “When a man and a woman love each other very much…” - cue the sound of a tape screeching to a halt. This doesn’t work so well when you’ve been impregnated in a doctor’s office by a woman in lime-green stretch pants. I know that some lesbians had their children with men they loved very much. But this story never began there. It began in a mall food court, with one of those questions you ask when you’re kindasortaseriously dating someone: “Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?” Beware; this is always a trick question.

Fast-forward some years, past bobbling other people’s cute babies on my knees, past smiling at the headstrong little girls at the park (karma got me on that one eventually), to sitting in the lavender painted living room of this month’s host couple for Rainbow Families. Going to a Rainbow Families meeting without a child in tow is effectively the same thing as going with a six-foot-tall neon sign that says, “Oh! Tell Me Your Birth Story!” It’s an excuse to spend a frozen Midwest Sunday afternoon watching children hit each other (so cutely!) with toys, and nibble vegetarian casseroles. But it’s also information overload, listening to each couple’s route through the treacherous course of baby making. These courses can be divided into four stages: 1. The Quest For The Missing Ingredient 2. Timing is Everything 3. Is There Enough Ice Cream? and 4. Ouch.

Before you start on this path, while you’re sitting in that lavender living room, you’re not fully aware of the subtle mommy-jockeying that’s going on, the game of parental pole-position inherent in the oh-so polite debate over known vs. unknown sperm (there, I said it) donors, medicalized birthing vs. natural birthing, breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding, co-sleeping vs. cry it out, cloth vs. disposable, pacifier vs. thumb, working vs. staying home, siblings vs. only children, Snugli vs. sling, Melissa vs. Indigo Girls (hey, this was over ten years ago!), Star Wars vs. Star Trek. Without an actual child, one is merely a spectator in these contests. Any opinions voiced, while serving to defuse the escalation, result in a stare and a dismissing, “Mmhmm.” You don’t know anything yet.

But oh boy, you’re going to learn. To drive a car, you have to take a course, and complete a written and practical exam. To adopt a puppy, you have to show proof of residence, show current I.D., and often provide personal references. To have a baby, you have to be in the presence of sperm during the right 40 or so hours each month. No reference checks. No written exams. There are books, of course, but parenting books are like trying to draw a snowflake: each book is written about a specific kid or set of kids that the author has experienced. My snowflake might not look at all like their snowflake. As I sit munching tofu puffs, awash in a sea of information (children’s catalog modeling to start a college fund?), blissfully ignorant of the realities, Rainbow Parenting begins.

I could drag you through the process, debating color blindness vs. a family history of alcoholism, grousing about paying for sperm when there’s so much of it out there for free, having more blood drawn than a phlebotomist-in-training’s best friend, the months of sperm but no baby, and then the month, finally, when Aunt Flo failed to show up bearing her red flag. There is nothing like that two minutes suspended in time, knowing that behind the bathroom door is a stick you peed on that will tell you your future. Really, if the pregnancy test people were being honest about it, little blue letters would show up reading, “Life as you know it is over.”

Fast-forward some eleven years or so later, through many re-runs of diaper changing, adventures in breastfeeding, bed rest while pregnant with twins, so many episodes of diaper changing that it becomes laughable (conference call with the headset on mute, me on the floor changing two diapers?). But it’s all that baby stuff that it takes to get from a little blue line on the stick to someone who can actually, occasionally say “Thank you, Mom.” You get all the tedium of repetitive action, but also all the little snuggly people with fuzzy heads, and the wonder of their discoveries. Babymommyhood was a good chapter to experience, but like college or my 20s, I’m glad it was finite. We had a party at my house the day all my children finally completed the two steps necessary to graduate into big kidhood: take care of your own self in the bathroom, and buckle your own seatbelt.

This past holiday season I was definitely onto the next phase in parenting. I was treated to endless rounds of “Jingle bells, Batman smells” and discovered one of my sons had interpreted the lyrics of that old Christmas favorite as, “Deck the halls with bras of holly!” He has no idea what a ‘bough’ is, but a bra is what his sister doesn’t want him to see in the laundry. My eldest and I agreed we’re both scared of growing up, and that I’ll stick by her as she grows up if she’ll stick by me as I grow old. We began at the beginning, but I promise, this part has more humor value.

I’ll leave you with a description of the final page in my son’s pre-holiday-break journal that he brought home from school. At top is a detailed picture of the moon, with green highlighter lines coming out of it toward a man labeled, “Ceanta,” who is standing on a sleigh pulled by a red-nosed reindeer. Both man and reindeer are saying “PE.You,” as are people’s voices coming out of two houses below. The caption reads: “The moon is foorting. Ceanta dasint like it. But the moon will not stop.”

Too bad I had sent my Christmas cards already. Watch out for the moon.

Written by Darby Blue

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.

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.

The Cliks C’est Chiq

Looking at Lucas Silveira, you wouldn’t guess that he is a vanguard in the music industry. All five foot next to nothing, rocking the nu wave revival in his black shirt and thin red tie, he doesn’t really see himself as someone at the forefront of anything, just another guy who loves writing and performing rock-n-roll. Silveira’s band — a Toronto-based group called The Cliks — has been together in different forms since 2002, but the last year has certainly been unlike anything they’ve experienced since their humble beginnings as a Toronto bar band.

On April 24th, The Cliks released their first CD with Warner Music Canada and on Silver Records (Tommy Boy’s GLBT-specific label) in America. That date is the realization of a lifelong dream for Silveira, but in the music industry, it is also notable, as it is the first time that a vocal group with a trangendered frontman will have been released on a major label in North America, and quite possibly the world. What is equally worth mentioning is that while many queer groups remain in the underground, The Cliks’ new CD Snakehouse is so ridiculously catchy - not just their own songs, but also their cover of Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River” — that it is causing a huge buzz in the music industry. From Billboard to MTV.com, mainstream music journalists (largely made up of straight men) are writing about the band.

Singer/songwriter Silveira is humbled and clearly grateful for all the goodness - especially since it has been a long and occasionally arduous journey right up to this CD’s release. “I’ve been working very hard at this for a very long time,” he admits, “and it was getting to this point where I was starting to look for day jobs, because music was not paying the bills.” Snakehouse was being mixed in the studio when Silveira realized that it was time to pony up and get a ‘real’ job. Hours after that realization, everything changed. Jake Gold (co-manager of The Tragically Hip) called Silveira and said ‘I just listened to the album, it rocks! I wanna take you guys on!’ “I still can’t believe it,” the singer enthuses. “Fate just knocked us over.”

Excitement and gratitude still resonates in Silveira’s recollection of the story; part of his humility and down-to-earth-ness comes as a result of having a tumultuous recent past. In 2005, Silveira had found much of his world crashing down around him. His 6 1/2 year relationship ended, Silveira’s father had a stroke, and at the singer was coming to terms with thoughts about where he fit on the gender scale. “I wrestled with it my entire life, it was brutal. It affected relationships, friendships, music industry, day job. I started transitioning in 2005, 2-3 months out of the relationship.” While he feels comfortable in his body, Silveira - who had spent his whole life trying to make his way as a singer - struggled to come to terms with transitioning and how taking testosterone could threaten his career. “I kept thinking about my voice…I started doing my own research on testosterone and I thought ‘Oh fuck, I can’t do this.’ Music is number one in my life; at the end of it, I learned something about myself. I learned that I identify as a transgendered male, I don’t identify as a man. I started questioning things: am I not transgendered if I don’t have a deep voice and hair all over my body? No, I still am who I am, I decided that I was in the middle ground…but then I found a lot of people like me.” He has already had top surgery and admits that when it comes to the idea of testosterone, “every day is a temptation…but the realization is that if I choose one, I lose the other.”

The Cliks’ fast-rising success means that bigger audiences are coming out to see their live shows. When asked if the frontman is receiving lusty screams and flirtatious attention from a number of different genders and orientations, he blushes a little and smiles widely. “Straight women, straight men, lesbians and gay men. I am universal love,” he laughs, opening his arms wide. One of the most exciting things in The Cliks’ near future is their upcoming participation in Cindy Lauper’s True Colors tour, a traveling festival promoting ‘equality for all’ as their byline explains, hosted by Margaret Cho and featuring everyone from Erasure to Blondie to The Gossip and more. Tour host Cho describes them in her blog as “THE BAND of our time” and has also publicly stated that “no one else can inspire such crushed out admiration and full on rock star screaming.” Silveira is thrilled to be included on the tour, which will allow them to play for much larger crowds than they are used to. “On the main stage, we’ll be playing in front of 10,000+ people. That is going to be a huge thing for our careers, something that will change things for us by far. In fact, someone came up to me in the bathroom the other day at a show and said ‘Can I hug you before you get huge?’ The whole thing is happening really quickly, and I feel incredibly lucky.”

Check out The Cliks’ official website or Myspace page for more information including full length songs and upcoming tour dates!

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.

Trans-gressions

Back in November when I was listless and unemployed, I had the audacity to ask the folks at the Reeling Queer International Film Festival to give me free, advanced copies of all the films I wanted to see (and review). To my surprise, they said yes, and soon I was loaded down with armfuls of films (in reusable, environmentally-friendly canvas bags, of course). The best documentary film of the fest was Sam Feder’s and Julie Hollar’s Boy I Am, which provides a critical and challenging look at contemporary trans issues told through the narratives of three transitioning transmen: Norie, Nicco and Keegan. Their insights, triumphs and hardships are punctuated by interviews with gender theorists, lawyers, and activists who attempt to clarify and complicate issues surrounding trans identity within the broader queer community and the world at large. The heart of the documentary is the voices from the transmen themselves, who come from racially and economically diverse backgrounds and who beautifully dispel the notions of trans identity as a “cop out” or as an appropriation of male privilege by rejecting feminism and butch lesbianism.

Such notable names as Mike De Luca (producer of Magnolia, Boogie Nights, Life as a House, Blow and Hedwig and the Angry Inch amongst others) have taken notice of Boy I Am. De Luca said of the film: “Boy I Am does justice in its exposure of the tragic double standard gender modification is held to in America. I am reminded of the very brave scene in All About My Mother where Agrado (Antonia San Juan) describes to an audience each and every procedure she had to become the woman she is today. As technology catches up to identity, still there are hypocritical collagen sneers. Perhaps, in their ignorant heart of hearts, they are jealous in their inability to be who they are. Men like Norie, Keegan, and Nicco deserve better.”

I was lucky enough to sit down with Sam Feder at a Chicago cafe on a recent faux spring day in April to discuss the film and some of the necessary and complex issues it inspires.

Q: What kind of reception has Boy I Am received, from the trans community specifically, because one of the major criticisms I’ve read comes from non-trans people talking about/speaking for trans people. You certainly give a voice to the three FTMs in your documentary, but what are your thoughts on tackling issues that directly and physically pertain to experiences that you haven’t lived?

SF: Some trans folks have thanked us -one trans youth asked for a copy to show to their parents before they came out to them-others feel frustrated by the discussion being presented. Ultimately, we expect a variety of reactions and are more than eager to hear them. We made this to promote dialogue. In respect to non-trans folks making a documentary about transfolks, Julie and I made a documentary that turned the mirror within our community; we discussed an issue within and about our own community - the dyke community. We have not taken an isolated event and presented it as outsiders. We are extremely invested in the issues we explore for social, political and personal reasons. As two gender variant people, a lot of these issues permeate into our lives. And, every aspect of the films comes from our stories.

Q: It’s interesting that all three of the guys you chronicled decided to go on T (testosterone therapy) and get top surgery. Do you think there is now pressure for FTMs to conform to the chemically/surgically altered body? Is there a cultural ideal that trans people feel pressure to uphold?

SF: Yes…I think pressure exists. As, Keegan states, there is policing within the community. He expressed there was pressure on how to be and how not to be a transman. As a non-transperson I can’t speak about personal pressure. The community I am part of has come a long way from the narrow definitions of what it once meant to be a transman. And that’s something I see celebrated and encouraged. As for all three undergoing hormones and surgery, we aimed to document a variety of trans masculinity, and worked with the guys accordingly, but this changed over time and the film ended with them all being on hormones and having surgery-we weren’t looking to portray that form of masculinity solely. And, the film is by no means suggesting that hormones and surgery are the end all for a transman. That was just their stories.

Q: Boy I Am does a really good job of bridging the theoretical aspects of identity with the lived experiences of those who are theorized. What role/relevance do you think theory plays in these discussions of gender and identity?

SF: The relationship between theory and practice is tricky to follow and work with. Ideally, theory needs to be more respectful, should reflect what’s going on in the subject being theorized, question what’s going on, and inspire dialogue. Theory is risky when it starts establishing norms and predicting what those norms should be. I do think theory is helpful in the sense that it gives us a vocabulary - a jumping off point. However, I think theory itself needs to be theorized more, that theorists need to take more responsibility for the role they play in people’s actual lives and not be so removed from it. I’ve heard some gender theorists express shock and offense when they hear the community critiquing them or even devaluing their work. I would think that would be an inherent expectation for a theorist and encouraged. Additionally, for many people’s practice, i.e. their lives, theory surrounding isn’t accessible and/or has no cause and effect relationship for them.

Q: I wanted to talk a bit about binaries and choice. Because binaries are almost always hierarchical-white is better than black, straight is better than gay, etc.- transgenderism has the potential to invalidate those either/or politics, which is one of the reasons why I think it’s perceived as so threatening. It’s the whole “you’re either with us or against us” mentality. How then do we respect choice (the choice to live as male in a patriarchal society, for instance) without destroying political foundations, alliances, and laws for our “protection”?

SF: I don’t see how respecting choice lends itself to destroying political foundations, alliances, and laws for our “protection”. Not respecting choice is policing within. How can we knowingly do that? Not supporting choice is the antithesis of feminism. Remember, “My Body, My Choice”?

Q: Another thing I loved about your film was the dialogue from girlfriends of FTMs. You don’t often hear about the odd reality of lesbians suddenly being read as straight and the implications of that identity/sexuality shift. How does a lesbian reconcile her sexuality without undermining her trans partner’s male identity?

SF: I think this is an important topic, and a touchy topic as well, for people because sometimes partners of trans people are seen as accessories-their sexual identity changes based on who they’re with. Speaking from personal experience, why should I have to give up my political identity or sexual identity based on who I’m sleeping with? On the adverse, how do we maintain our sexual identity when it’s inherently defined by the other person involved. Kate Bornstein has begun discussing an idea of moving self identity away from being defined by who we are with and turned back to how we see ourselves. I see myself as a queer dyke regardless of who I am dating be it a fag, femme, butch, transperson, transman or transwoman and so on…

Q: Do you watch The L Word? If so, I wanted to get your thoughts on Max, the trans character. Do you feel that there are elements of tokenization and/or unrealistically negative portrayals of trans issues on the show, like taking testosterone, etc?

SF: I have seen it enough to have an opinion about it. I was turned off by Max’s character because he was way too one-dimensional. A perfect example of how the mainstream media can be irresponsible when addressing these kinds of nuanced issues. I heard of young folks who feared if they transitioned they might become like Max. I’m glad they have included a transmale character (though I do wish there was more inclusion of dykes and butches) because I know it has started dialogue that wasn’t there before. However, in my opinion, it’s pretty transparent what the agenda in presenting Max was and that’s not an agenda I support.

Q: Trans issues are further complicated by the medical component. Whereas homosexuality was removed from the DSM list of pathologies in the 70s, transsexuality remains firmly controlled by medical and psychological technologies. To what extent does trans identity become inhibited by the medical aspects of body categorization, gender dysphoria, etc.?

SF: The medical community still dictates what a trans person is. Because of this, people have learned to tell doctors what they want to hear regardless of its relevance to their lives. And, essentially this just reinforces the medical component. As long as there’s a medical format, trans people can never have complete ownership of their bodies. As long as doctors continue to have this much control, transpeople will be denied a very serious human right. As a friend said the other night at a Q&A, “Why do transmen need a doctor’s note when you can get a shot of botox on a whim without a note saying, “you’re crazy”—which, maybe they should.”

Q: What are you working on now?

SF: I’m in post-production on a short narrative called “F. Scott Fitzgerald Slept Here” with my partner Jules Rosskam. And I received a research fellowship from Columbia College’s The Institute for the Study of Women and Gender in the Arts and Media to work on a feature length doc. That explores feminism. That narrows it down, no?

Check out www.boyiam.mayfirst.org for the latest news regarding the film, dates of upcoming screenings and for additional resources concerning trans issues. While you’re at the site, check out the Boy I Am blog, where the issues raised by the film continue to be discussed.

Written by Anna Pulley

Anna is a post-Creative Writing major and validation junky. In addition to Queerky, she also writes for dykediva.com, centerstagechicago.com and does film reviews for theaspectratio.net. She uses quotation marks unnecessarily and spends entirely too much time justifying the artistic merit of limericks. You can contact her at banannarama01@yahoo.com

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