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wlw-imagines-blog · 5 years

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Just Good Business (Modern!Peggy Carter x Modern!Fem!Reader)

Anon asked: Hi love! First, thank you so much for the Peggy shot... my heart it's so happy... second, can I pick numbers 1, 2 & 7 from the PROMP list #1, with Peggy, but Modern Life!AU? bc my queer ass needs modern Life Peggy Carter... Thanks love

Prompts:

1 - “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

2 - “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry”

7 - “I hate how much I love you”

Summary: Corporate/CEO au, This is less fluff, more angst and heartache. Ex-lovers fall in love.

Warnings: Some behavior alluding to dom/sub themes, ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Thank you for the lovely comment! This is hornier than I expected, sorry.

Corporate galas were always the worst. Hosting them was a special punishment.

Wearing tight dress clothes and slicking every hair down, just to schmooze a bunch of greedy business men with too-realistic hair and too-orange spray tans. This wasn’t your forte, but necessary evil if you wanted your company to stay current and work with other businesses.

The room was filled with the thick scent of perfume and alcohol. Chatter and music flowed freely as you held court at your table near the front of the stage.

“Make sure to tell me when the Prince of Wakanda gets here,” you said to Peter, one of your personal assistants. “I want to be the first one to greet him. Stephen Strange said he was going to be late, so don’t give him a hard time at the door. And someone make sure Tony Stark never sees Justin Hammer; I don’t want either of them to make a scene.”

“Don’t worry,” Pepper Potts was seated to your left. She was going through the guest list, just like you. “I’ve already told Tony to behave tonight.”

You downed your cocktail. “I’m sure he will. Honestly, I’m more worried about Hammer.”

The whole table chuckled.

“I can’t believe I want to leave my own party,” you whispered to your executive assistant, Natasha. “I must be doing something wrong.”

She frowned, looking at your now empty glass. “I can get you another drink, but that’s about all I can do to help.”

You shrugged, gesturing to keep the cocktails coming. At least the drinks dulled the pain.

Just as she disappeared, Peter got your attention. “Ma’am? We have a bit of a problem.” He pressed a finger to his ear piece. “Wanda requested your presence at the front door. There’s some sort of issue with the guest list.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Parker?”

“Um, someone is asking for you.”

You raised an eyebrow before standing. “Alright. Fine. Tell Miss Romanoff where I am.”

You maneuvered around dancing couples and astonishingly drunk men to the entrance of the ballroom. Clint, the head of your security detail was standing back while Wanda stared wide eye at the trouble-causing guest.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss Maximoff?”

She looked up from her tablet, clearly frazzled. “Ma’am, there’s someone here, claiming that they’re suppose to be on the list, but I have no record of them, whatsoever...”

You turned to look at the offender, eyes widening when you recognized her.

Margaret Carter.

Peggy.

Owner of some massive airline over the sea, heiress, and millionaire. A fashion icon, and icon for entrepreneurial women everywhere.

You swallowed, hands suddenly clammy.

Peggy’s eyes bore into you, raking hungrily over your form. Her luxuriously red lips twisted into a smile.

“It’s okay, Wanda,” you were embarrassed at how shaky your voice was. “She’s with me.”

“Ma’am?” Wanda blinked uncertainly.

Clint rested a hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay, Miss Y/L/N?”

You nodded, managing an effortless smile. “I’m fine, Barton. Let her through.”

Peggy glided by, long red dress floating around her. It was slinky and off the shoulder, with a long slit that revealed a slender leg. She hadn’t changed a day. Her hair was still dark and perfectly curled, no wrinkles or crows feet. Still infuriatingly effortless, and graceful beyond belief.

She offered you a delicate smile. “Hello, doll. Long time, no see.” Peggy extended her hand, palm down.

You regarded it for a few seconds, before acquiescing. Taking it, you brushed your lips against her hand. You released it just as quickly. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Peggy, I’m glad you found your way. here.”

She laughed richly, and you could feel your chest flutter. You beat that down quickly. “Can I find you a place to sit? Anything to drink?”

“Sounds lovely. Lead the way.”

You brought her to your table, subtly shooing away your personal assistants. They scattered as Peggy sat down.

Question upon question swirled in your head, but each felt coarse and juvenile. Where have you been? What happened? Why did you leave me?

“What would you like to drink?” Was what came out instead.

“A Manhattan,” she responded. “Bourbon instead of rye.”

You snapped to get Peter’s attention when Peggy reached out, hand on your knee. “No, Y/N. I want you to get it.”

The muscle in your jaw tightened. Peggy always had a talent in stoking the angry fire in your belly. You closed your eyes before holding up a hand to stop Peter from making his way over. His eyebrows furrowed, but he stayed away.

It took strength to look at Peggy. “What are you doing here, Margret? Were you feeling nostalgic? Do you just want toy with me like you use to?”

“No,” the look in her eye had shifted from playful to serious. “I came here to apologize.”

“What?” you shifted in your seat. “Why?”

Peggy shook her head. “You were always so suspicious, Y/N.”

“Only with you. And only with good reason,” You crossed your arms, praying that the low blow still hurt.

All she did was smile.

“We’re better off as friends, Peg.”

Peggy caught your wrist, gentle smile still gracing her face. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” She whispered into your ear.

You recoiled, chest suddenly tight, mouth unbelievably dry. “Peggy... I can’t change the decisions you made. You didn’t want the commitment, so you went back to your golden castle on the hill. You left me.”

“And I’m admitting it was a terrible choice.”

“Then why did you make it?” You jerked your wrist away. Your skin was hit where she touched you.

“I was pulling you in too quickly... we were making decisions too fast... I was I was scared.”

You scoffed. “You’re not an easy one to scare, Miss Carter.”

“I know, Y/N, just, hear me out. Please?”

“I’ll need something to drink first,” you muttered, rising. You stalked to the bar before Peggy could stop you.

“A Manhattan with bourbon, and a Martini, dry.” The bartender nodded and set to work.

“She’s definitely not on the guest list,” Natasha hummed, startling you.

“We’re did you come from?”

“The front desk. Wanda caught me up on everything.”

You sighed. “I know what you’re going to say...”

“She needs to leave, before this gets messy.”

“I know, I’m working on it.”

Natasha nodded, mouth in a thin line. “I know you are. Do you need any help?”

“No, just make sure everyone steers clear of my table. Give me some time.” You massaged your temples.

She squeezed your arm in assurance before disappearing into the crowd.

You took the two drinks back to the table, shooting a humorless smile to Peter and Wanda who were watching anxiously. Natasha came by and scolded them back into work.

Sitting down, you placed the Manhattan in front of Peggy. “Okay. Shoot.”

She grinned. “You really haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“I resent that statement.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I love you?”

“No, not really.”

“I do, Y/N. I always have. Everyday I think about what I should have done, and how I should have stayed here, with you,” She touched your hand. “I know how much pain I caused you. And you must think I’m an absolute prick for coming here and putting my heart on the table for you.”

“I do.” You said without malice.

She smiled. “I respect that, Miss Y/L/N.”

“So what?” you were confused. “Do you want us so get back together and pretend like you didn’t disappear for three years? I can’t do that, Peggy, I simply do not have the time.”

“That’s not what I want,” she leaned in as a throng of people passed by the table. “I want to be around you again. I miss the way you laugh and command a room. Or how you speak your mind and use to let me in.”

“I hate how much I love you,” you choked out, teeth grit, chest tight once more. “Do you know that I’m a completely different person, Peg? Three years of solitude really does that to a girl. You might not like me anymore.”

She reached up and stroked your cheek. “At least let me get to know you again.”

The tears caught you by surprise, blurring your vision before you could stop them.

“Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry,” Peggy said, wiping away the moisture.

You looked away, batting at her hand. “I only ever cry when you’re in town, Peg.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Come on,’ you stood, sniffing. “Let’s get out of here. We have a lot to talk about.”

“But, this is your event, don’t you have to stay?”

You shrugged, offering your hand. “Natasha’s more than capable of running this circus. Please, let’s just go somewhere. I want to go.”

Peggy nodded, gently taking your hand. You moved to pull her, but she stopped you. She delicately raised it and brushed her lips against your knuckles. A soft smile made its way to your lips.

“Let’s go.”

#peggy carter #peggy carter x reader #agent carter #agent carter x reader #marvel au #corporate au #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #clint barton #prompts #prompt list

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thecourtneychronicles · 4 years

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“Courtney Act says she’s enjoying an endless “hot girl summer”. Which, for those not initiated into American rap memes, basically means she’s having a damn good time.

“I’m kind of lubed up and ready for Mardi Gras, so to speak,” she says. As Australia’s most famous drag queen, active since the turn of the century, Courtney helped lead the mainstreaming of queer culture in this country along with figures such as Carlotta and Bob Downe.

But being a leader or pioneer doesn’t guarantee being comfortable in your own skin. Courtney says that until recently her understanding of sexuality and gender was actually quite limited. When she was performing, she was a woman, but when she stripped off her make-up, she went back to being Shane Jenek, a man.

“Although I did drag, my masculinity and femininity were compartmentalised in the binary,” Courtney says.

But over the past few years, as public discussion of gender, sexuality and identity has grown, she has discovered things are more complex than your genitals, clothes and hair.

“I think sometimes people think identity has something to do with the wrapping, but really it’s the gift underneath,” she says. “It’s about how you feel. For me, I definitely feel like I occupy masculine and feminine qualities.”

Courtney explores this journey in her pop-cabaret show, Fluid, showing this week at the Eternity Playhouse in Darlinghurst as part of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras festival. It’s a change of pace for her after focusing on television in recent years; first by winning Britain’s Celebrity Big Brother in 2018, then as the runner-up (with Joshua Keefe) on last year’s Australian Dancing with the Stars.

It’s also a far cry from her humble beginnings in the DIY world of drag, which has never been regarded as high art but remains a staple of gay bars and culture worldwide.

“There’s a lot less hot glue and sticky tape in this show, which makes it feel a lot more professional,” Courtney says of Fluid. “I don’t know if that will hold until opening night.”

Set to original music, Fluid was written by Shane and American comedian Brad Loekle. For the most part it’s a one-woman show, with some help from a ballroom dancer in the second half. (“It’d be weird doing a ballroom dance by yourself,” she says.)

The show acknowledges that, more than ever, people are being flooded with “ever-changing and flowing ideas of who we are, what we are and what we might become”.

This is something we should embrace, says Courtney. “We change our clothes every day – we change our hairstyles, we change our jobs. Everything is constantly in motion and constantly fluid. But we have this idea that our identities are fixed. When we look at our lives they’re actually a lot more fluid than we think.”

Courtney, or Shane, doesn’t identify as trans but has said that seeing more transgender people represented in the media was liberating and allowed her to explore her own doubts about gender. She’s previously been described as “gender fluid, pansexual and polyamorous”, although she no longer embraces those labels as she once did.

“They all work,” says Courtney, who prefers to identify as “just generally queer” these days. “It’s funny … so many of our groups identify so strongly with labels and they’re so important to us. I kind of feel less attached to those labels.”

She also understands why some people might feel confused, or even confronted, by the politics of queer identification. The acronym LGBTQIA+, which stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual and others, has expanded over the years to the point that some critics deride it as “alphabet soup”. Even those who are part of the community can be intolerant.

“I get that LGBTIQA+ is a little cumbersome from a marketing standpoint,” says Courtney. “But if you find yourself with the time to complain and be confused by a few extra letters, then you’re one of the lucky ones. If there are people that get to understand themselves more because of a letter in an acronym, I’m all for it.”

“I definitely feel like I occupy masculine and feminine qualities.”

Courtney casts a sceptical eye over everything, including the rise of cancel culture, a predominantly left-wing phenomenon which argues that anyone who says or does something deemed to be racist, sexist, homophobic or in any way offensive should be called out, shamed and, preferably, silenced.

Lamenting the state of political discourse while appearing on the ABC’s Matter of Fact program last year, she said: “The volume’s too loud now and everybody’s yelling.” While history showed that people sometimes need to raise their voices, “when you actually sit down opposite someone and have a conversation with them, you get so much further”.

How, then, does Courtney view the debate over religious freedom that has raged ever since Australians voted to legalise same-sex marriage in 2017? She says it’s clear that sometimes people, especially older white males, perceive other people gaining rights as a threat to their own. She says religion can be a lost cause because it is, by definition, about faith rather than rational argument. Still, queer people have to make the effort to engage.

“The way to do that is to get people to picture themselves in other people’s experiences. That’s the only way you can foster that empathy.

“Rather than yelling aggressively back at the people trying to oppress us, I think the most important thing to do is to share our stories.”

Another thing you can do, of course, is march. This weekend, Mardi Gras culminates in the annual parade up Oxford Street, which will feature more than 200 floats and 10,000 marchers. For the first time, Courtney will co-host the coverage on SBS with comedians Joel Creasey and Zoe Coombs Marr, and Studio 10 presenter Narelda Jacobs.

She had something of a practice run hosting the coverage on Foxtel some years ago. “I saw a clip of it the other day,” she says. “And I’m definitely hoping to redeem myself.”

As a character, Courtney has been on the gay scene for about 20 years. The person behind the facade, Shane, turned 38 last week. He grew up in Brisbane and remembers watching the parade on television as a teenager in the 1990s, huddled up close to the TV so he could quickly switch it off if his parents came downstairs.

Shane came to Sydney when he was 18 and attended his first Mardi Gras. “I just remember it was such a melting pot of people,” he says. “It was the first time I really understood what a community was: that there were all these different parts, and we all faced different challenges and struggles.”

But even then, Shane says he failed to really comprehend about what Mardi Gras was all about. Just like many heterosexual critics over the years, as a young man he gawked at the giant dancing penises, fetish-wear and nudity and wondered: why?

“I remember thinking: why can’t they just be normal?” Shane says. “Have your parade, but why does it have to be about sex and penises? Because I had shame about all of those things. I realise now that the parade’s brash display of sexuality liberates the shame … it’s a really radical way to shake people and say there’s nothing wrong with sexuality – not just homosexuality but sexuality in general.”

The queer community has given Shane a lot: acceptance, identity, a career and fame. It has taken him to Los Angeles, where he was based for some years until 2018, and now to his new home in London.

Love, on the other hand, remains elusive. He is “on the rebound” at the moment, though eternally optimistic. “It’s Mardi Gras time, it’s summer in Sydney, I think this is the perfect time to be single. Maybe I’ll find love under a disco ball at the after-party.”

Incredibly, at 38, Shane is about to attend his first ever wedding, straight or gay – his friend Tim is marrying his partner Ben. It is set to be a baptism of fire. “They have asked my ex-boyfriend and me to give the best man’s speech together, which could be slightly sadistic,” he says.

Shane is still adjusting to the relatively new world of same-sex marriage. It’s not for everyone – many queers still think of it as a conservative and unnecessary institution – but it’s growing on him. “Weirdly, seeing all these people get married, I feel like my cold heart has melted a bit,” he says. “I think there’s something really beautiful about marriage.”

It’s a reminder of why events like the Mardi Gras are still so important – a celebration of diversity at the same time as the old divisions between straight and gay are knocked down. As well as marriage, this can manifest in small shifts, like the politics of Bondi Beach.

“I was at North Bondi on Saturday [and] it was surprisingly unlike North Bondi,” Shane says. “It was all families and those banana umbrella things. I was like, ‘Oh, I remember when this used to be [gay nightclub] ARQ, but with more light.’"

“I guess that’s the progress we fought for – the families are happy occupying the gay beaches now.”

Fashion director Penny McCarthy. Photographer Steven Chee. Hair Benjamin Moir at Wigs By Vanity.

SBS’s Mardi Gras broadcast airs live from 7.30pm on February 29. Fluid will return for a tour of Australia and NZ in spring.

This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale February 23.”

Courtney’s interview for The Sydney Morning Herald - February 21, 2020

#ca interview #21.02.20 #courtney act #sydney mardi gras

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theteaisaddictive · 5 years

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okay but you can't just tease us with a wedding meme mentioning ejts in the tags. spill :D

ask and ye shall receive my dear :D

1) Who proposes? 2) How do they propose? 3) Reaction of the one being proposed to

in the middle of the chaos post-transformation, belle probably whispers to eve that she never wants to leave her side again.

‘i know, i know,’ eve whispers. ‘i remember. i’ll never leave you again.’

‘no, i-’ belle says. ‘i mean, i want to stay with you forever’, and she drops to one knee right there on the newly-constructed balcony, still strewn with rose petals and the rosy-fingered dawn. she holds out her left hand palm-up. ‘do you?’

eve joins her kneeling on the ground, her legs still shaking from the transformation. she takes her hand, her eyes almost shockingly large now that they’re in a human face. ‘yes. yes. yes, belle, dearest, of course.’ she leans over and they kiss.

they kiss for quite a while.

4) How they tell the others

chip, of course, asks as soon as the general excitement levels have gone down, ‘are they gonna get married?’

the senior staff all glance at each other wondering who’s going to have to finally teach this emblem of hope for the future about homophobia, but before the silence can get more than half a step beyond natural, eve chimes in with an ‘of course we are, chip. in fact, belle asked me not twenty minutes ago and i said yes.’

while mrs potts is relieved that eve is human again and that she’s no longer cold and cruel-hearted, she notices a certain fire in eve’s eyes that came straight from her father – the stubbornness which means she’s going to get her own way come hell or high water. it used to apply to hunting, and petty matters of daily life. mrs potts is proud to see it used to marry belle.

(marie doesn’t find out that they’re married for … a while. how long an interval it’s going to be? haven’t decided yet.)

5) Who’d they choose as ring bearer

chip, of course! who else?

6) Who’s the one that spends the most time worrying about preps for the wedding?

surprisingly, there isn’t actually a lot of time to prep for the wedding. neither of them have much of a taste for fancy celebrations and would prefer a simple ceremony, so that’s what they choose. (but yes, eve does manage to get her bee in a bonnet regardless)

7) When they go looking for their outfits

it’s less ‘looking for outfits’ and more ‘repurposing old ones’. belle would be more than happy to just wear her best blue dress, but even though eve had a transformative experience shaped by queer love, she’s adamant that belle has a new, different dress she’s never worn before for the ceremony (so belle is in basically the celebration dress from the remake, and eve is in essentially ella’s wedding dress from the 2015 film but minus the train. yes i am trash. no i refuse to apologise.)

IMAGINE THESE BLUSHING BRIDES. ALSO YOU WILL HAVE TO IMAGINE THEM AGAIN FOR ROSES AND LAVENDER BUT PRETEND FOR A MOMENT THAT LILY JAMES IS PORTRAYING A GENDER-SWAPPED BEAST HERE AND NOT CINDERELLA

8) Fusses over the other before the wedding day

they’re both very concerned about each other and it’s very sweet. they both stay up the night before the wedding in the library, keeping close together as midnight approaches. belle rubs her fingers soothingly against eve’s head and intermittently finger-combs her hair, and eve absent-mindedly runs her hand in circles over belle’s back as they talk quietly about tomorrow.

9) Reactions to their wedding attire

ok so how i picture it is that since neither of them have people to give them away (léon and cogsworth offered their services, but both women declined), they mirror the ballroom scene so their first glimpses of each other are as they go down the stairs to the landing before descending to the ballroom proper. both of them almost stop in their tracks because of how BEAUTIFUL and RADIANT and HAPPY the other looks to be marrying HER. eve cries two tiny tears before she even reaches the landing.

10) Who whispers the other “you look great”

belle to eve. they’re holding hands as they walk towards the servants, lefou and stanley, wait why are those two there what plot points will they be relevant to and léon

11) How are they feeling during vows

nervous as all fuck. jittery. excited. overjoyed. eve actually does start to cry during her vows. belle doesn’t, but she gets very, very close.

12) What do their rings look like?

simple, thin gold bands. they wear them on their right hands.

13) The kiss

the vows are exchanged. the rings placed. cogsworth looks at eve, whom he’s known and loved for the best part of a decade. ‘and now, by the power invested in me by the princess of this realm, i declared you to be married. you may now kiss the bride.’

belle smiles so wide that it hurts her cheeks, and she and eve take a step forwards at the same time. eve sweeps her into the kiss, one hand resting on her waist while the other cups belle’s neck. belle rests her own hand on the plane of eve’s back, allowing her other hand to brush eve’s shoulder as she kisses her wife. and for a moment in that kiss, it’s like their first up on the balcony – uncertain and desperately tender. eve breaks to take a breath, and belle pulls her back in for another kiss, their lips moving gently as the gathered congregation cheers. because they kissed. because they’re married. because eve is her wife.

14) What do they whisper to each other after vows?

nothing. they just look at each other. they’ve already said everything.

15) When cutting their cake, and afterwards

the wedding breakfast is basically a garden party in the grounds with the staff and aforementioned guests. there is enough food and cake and drinks for everyone, and as the afternoon fades into the evening the mood goes from bright and joyous to quietly happy, but in that way where the amount of emotion present is the same it’s just expressed differently if that makes any kind of sense. both brides make speeches, and both begin their speech with ‘on behalf of my wife and i …’ (they had to make lumiere flip a coin bc they both wanted to go first but didn’t want to take the chance away from the other and it was halfway to becoming one of those stupid fights that in a sitcom would be the episode one cliffhanger of the wedding two-parter, but luckily lumiere was in possession of the throuple’s two brain cells that morning so he managed to de-escalate the situation.) belle went first, but the line got the obligatory cheer from the guests both times.

16) The two dancing together

chapeau (or a Chapeau-Adjacent Character bc atm i can’t remember if i wrote him in or not) starts playing the fiddle, and the wives take their place on the ballroom floor (the reception has moved back inside by now). think home (reprise), the high note then gently glissandos down to the beginning of beauty and the beast. (can you glissando on a violin? idk. maybe it’s just a piano thing but you know what i’m trying to get across here)

they dance the steps that they first performed while eve was still a bird, and then eventually devolve into a gentle waltz.

after the first dance, it’s country dances for all!! poor chapeau has his work cut out for him, but léon can play and stanley brought his accordion so by the end of the night everybody who has to play gets to dance to at least three songs.

17) Who takes a picture of the other

not applicable! HOWEVER plumette takes quick sketches throughout the day, and in later years belle and eve have official portraits taken in their wedding dresses on repeat wears, so between one and the other they have plenty of memories.

18) Who lifts the other up (bridal style)

eve sweeps belle off her feet (again) (it’s something of a recurring motif for them)

19) The reaction of the person being carried

belle laughs, shrieking a little because she was caught off-guard. she presses small kisses to eve’s cheek and neck until her arms give out and she has to put belle down again.

20) Wedding night

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

no, no, no, i’ll be genuine (and mildly explicit). they leave (eventually). chip fell asleep about an hour ago. the night is (fairly) young. they go up to the west wing together. eve can’t stop grinning. she has a wife.

once safely in the west wing, they help each other out of the fine materials of their dresses and remove their stays, but otherwise stay pretty much fully dressed. they pile up on eve’s bed, in a similar position to how they were in the library the night before; belle is lying directly on the pillows, while eve is resting with her head on belle’s shoulder and their legs intertwined. before long, of course, they start kissing. and they clutch at each other, pressing so close they can feel their heartbeats through the layers of muscle and bone and fabric. and eve takes a very long time to roll belle’s stockings down her legs, kissing each inch as it appears. and then she kisses several other areas of her wife’s body (and belle can barely look at her as she does it, but the sight of that blonde head between her legs causes her to dig her fingers into eve’s hair, and that was a rather interesting discovery for both of them). and then belle, after a moment to catch her breath, pushes eve over to her back and pulls off her chemise. and she is just as slow as eve was, tracing her hands over eve’s body, and when she does finally push eve’s chemise away to press her lips to naked skin, the look in eve’s eyes is one she never forgets.

and then, after a long while, eve says, ‘we’re married. you’re my wife.’

‘and you’re my wife,’ belle says just as quietly. she presses a kiss to the top of eve’s forehead.

‘i never thought this would happen,’ she says. ‘not even before the curse. i thought i would be like my mother, and that the most i could hope for was either to have a husband who would be kinder or to live as an old maid.’

belle wraps her arm around eve’s shoulders a little tighter, as if she wants to protect the girl of eighteen whom she never even met. knowing belle, eve thinks, that’s probably the case.

‘i’m so glad i met you, eve,’ she says. ‘i never thought this kind of love could be possible. i’m beyond overjoyed that it’s with you.’

she cards her fingers through eve’s hair, the glint of her ring catching in the moonlight. a few minutes later, eve rearranges their positions, so that they’re both covered by the warm blankets and she’s pressed into belle’s back, her arms draped around her. their hands find each other under the covers, and they fall asleep peacefully on their first day of married life.

#asks #ever just the same #stagepresenceofapotato #DID THIS MAKE ME EMOTIONAL ABOUT WEDDINGS??? MAYBE SO!! MAYBE SO!#how many times did i write some variation of YOU'RE MY WIFE??? let me count the ways #GOD THE EMOTION I CANNOT #it's the tenderness

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balarouge · 4 years

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The sound of Toronto right now: this music is setting the tone in 2020 - NOW Magazine

As Toronto grows and gets more expensive, there’s angst about displacement of DIY communities and spaces for creativity to flourish. But we’re still thriving. Globe-trotting sounds are meeting on the dance floor, toxicity is being worked out through rockstar swagger, disco is returning to its radical roots.

Here are eight snapshots of artists pushing the scene forward and more to watch in 2020. The music they’re making is strong, vibrant and diverse – the whole world in one city’s music scene.

The sound: Dance music for rule-breakers

Bambii is part of the lifeblood of Toronto’s dance music scene. She’s a leader in the collective of cool, queer and diasporic DJs who are working to make the city’s dance music culture reflective of their realities.

Committed to Black women and queer folk from the very beginning, she’s turned her biannual party, JERK, into an institution. Known internationally for genre-defying sets, she’s left a string of sweaty dance floors from Berlin to Ho Chi Minh City. But in 2020, she’s stepping away from touring as a DJ to focus on releasing her own music.

Bambii calls her recently released debut single, Nitevision, a “future dancehall” track, which is interesting – considering she was adamant at the outset of her career about not being labelled a dancehall DJ. Being Caribbean, she was concerned she would be pigeonholed by narrow-minded categorization.

“I’m at a place now where I understand Caribbean music and diasporic music to be so vast in terms of something to reference or to be inspired by,” she says. “It’s just so rich. I no longer feel like I’m being put in a box.”

As a song and as a music video, Nitevision is an ode to Black women – to people Bambii admires, to her friends, to her community. It’s an ode to the dance floor as a conduit for powerful feminine energy.

“It just felt like it was the most sincere point I could make, coming out as a producer.”

And it’s just the beginning. She plans on dropping several singles this year. She says the songs will sound like her DJ sets. So expect more future dancehall, but also high tempo house, ballroom, Jersey club and reggaeton. She even hints at some songs using her own vocals.

Like the city she’s from, Bambii is perpetually evolving – she’s never settled on just one thing.

“The real Toronto, to me, just sounds like everything – which is what’s cool about it.”

Bambii has been in the party scene for years and the idea to produce came to her four years ago, but it took some time to conquer the intimidation of producing and get comfortable putting out her own music. But she also felt DJing no longer allowed her to express everything she needed to say and represent everyone she needed to represent. Her work has an overarching intention to reclaim Black women’s stories, and to counteract the narratives that are imposed on them.

“When I think about what inspires me or encourages me, it’s people suspended in joy and dance,” she says. “It’s what spaces feel like when there’s a majority of women in them, a majority of Black women.” KELSEY ADAMS

More Artists To Watch

Demiyah Pérez

A student of Intersessions DJ workshops led by Chippy Nonstop, Demiyah Pérez spent 2019 pivoting from being every Toronto DJ’s favourite dancer to a purveyor of sounds in her own right. Her sets, a high-energy mix of dancehall, reggae, house and hip-hop, cater to dancers who aren’t ashamed to leave it all on the floor. Last May, she helped launched Ahlie, a party series designed to create common ground between queer and straight people who love dancehall and bashment culture.

The brainchild of DJs Hangaëlle, Minzi Roberta and Kiga, Kuruza is a collective and a monthly party. Already the go-to Afro dance music party in the city, Kuruza settled into its new home at the Drake Underground late last year. Think African pop music, gqom, baile funk, Afrohouse, soca and dancehall. You can also catch them on underground radio station ISO Radio, where they spotlight different DJs and provide a glimpse into their events.

Sofia Fly

DJ/producer/rapper Sofia Fly's 2019 EP, Rosé, is a reflection of her trans Latina identity set to nebulous house and ballroom beats. Her inspired downtempo remixes of pop faves like Kehlani and Shakira to indie rap darlings like Princess Nokia prove she knows how to parse a song down to its core. Her live sets are opulently layered, genre-jumping feats, from hip-hop to disco to deep house.

Shan Vincent de Paul

The sound: Grimy flows and globetrotting beats

Shan Vincent de Paul’s ruthless collaborations with fellow Tamil musician Yanchan on Mrithangam Raps scored more than half a million views last summer. Fans ate up the video series in which Vincent de Paul’s staccato rhymes chase the percussion from Yanchan’s mrithangam (or mridangam), an Indian drum commonly used at Hindu weddings and Carnatic ensembles.

“It was an authentic bridge between the classic South Asian sound and modern rap,” says Vincent de Paul about the genre fusion that brought him back around to his Tamil roots.

Outkast, Hieroglyphics, Pharoahe Monch and their contemporaries are primary influences on the Sri Lankan-born, Brampton-raised refugee artist who has been grinding out music since 2005, first with Soliva Spit Society, then as half of experimental duo Magnolius and finally alongside the collective sideways.

“I never want to classify myself as a Tamil rapper,” says Vincent de Paul, about why he didn’t tap into his heritage until recently. “I want to compete with the best of them. [And] I always had this fear that if I was going to be speaking about our story, it’s going to be falling on deaf ears.”

His first two solo albums, Saviours (2016) and Trigger Happy Heartbreak (2017), scored with U.S.-based music blogs like Okayplayer and Afropunk. But as Tory Lanez, Drake or the Weeknd will tell you, homegrown love is hard to find.

He went beast mode on tracks like Die Iconic, unleashed bangers like Bitch Go and Warning Shot and lifted spirits with the refugee anthem Out Alive. But for years, Canada slept on him.

“The art I’m making is undeniable,” says Vincent de Paul, letting out his frustration about being ignored by the industry he once catered to. “I can out-rap 99 per cent of the people in this country. I’ll put that on my life. Canada has some of the best artists in the world, but our industry is a high school shitshow.”

Vincent de Paul eventually found support within the South Asian community, who were thrilled to find a brown rapper whose rhymes are tight. And then he hooked up with Yanchan. Their Mrithangam Raps paved the way for an upcoming tour through India in February and a collab LP called IYAAA dropping March 27. And in early summer Vincent de Paul will release his third solo album, Made In Jaffna.

“Now I don’t give a fuck about the Canadian industry,” he says. “Because I have all these other people that are legit supporting me and uplifting me.

“Now the Canadian industry is outnumbered.” RADHEYAN SIMONPILLAI

If you’ve seen their name in red stencil all over the streets of Toronto and wondered what the fuc Fuctape might mean, it’s an anonymous Toronto collective with over 30 members. None of them are identified, but listen to their album and scattered singles – all up on YouTube – and there are a few you might recognize. It’s somewhere between the give-no-fucks energy of early Brockhampton and Odd Future with the way-too-online pranksterism of Death Grips, with some other electronic and indie rock pastiche in the mix.

Swagger Rite

The first song on Swagger Rite’s The Swagged Out Pedestrian, released late last year on Sony, is called Mosh Pit – and that’s the vibe throughout the spare and bone-rattling trap of the five-song EP. The Jane and Weston rapper’s single In Love With The K was a viral hit on WorldStarHipHop and attracted Drake collaborator BlocBoy JB for a new version. His energy is infectious, and you can already see it starting to spread beyond Toronto.

Jon Vinyl

Jon Vinyl has a pretty good friend in his corner: pop sensation Shawn Mendes. The young R&B singer/songwriter got a shout-out from his old Pickering high school pal on Instagram last year for his Nostalgia EP, and the music stood up to the sudden influx of rabid Mendies (is that what his stans are called?). His upcoming single Moments (out January 31), produced by fellow Torontonian GOVI, shows his star potential – timeless smooth soul meets 2020 pop hooks.

Nyssa calls her music “repurposed rock.”

With her bleached-blond hair, intense eyes and undeniable swagger, she’s seven decades of rock star energy channelled into one person. You can hear it all in her electro-glam pop songs: outlaw country, 60s Motown, singer/songwriter folk, pulsing 80s pop and plenty of old rock and roll.

But there’s one thing missing: guitars.

“I’m not saying I’ll never use guitars. I mean, I love guitars,” says Nyssa. “But I want to challenge myself, and this kind of music is usually so guitar-driven, part of the challenge is to find that energy somewhere else. I want to take all the things I love and then break all the moulds so you hear them in a different way.”

As a solo artist, Nyssa has an EP, Champion Of Love, and a handful of singles to her name. But she’s a long-time veteran of the local rock scene. She fronted the girl group/rockabilly-indebted band the Superstitions (later Modern Superstitions) starting when she was 15 years old.

She’s been through the record-label wringer and is now purposefully independent and self-sufficient. She produces all her music herself, and even her powerful and intense live shows are 100 per cent solo – though she cherishes the visceral communal experience of live music.

One collaboration Nyssa does have on the way is with Meg Remy of U.S. Girls, who co-produced her cover of Ann-Margret’s psychedelic Lee Hazlewood collaboration It’s A Nice World To Visit (But Not To Live In). That will appear on an upcoming vinyl box set from local label Fuzzed and Buzzed and also on Nyssa’s otherwise self-produced debut album, Girls Like Me, which she plans to release sometime this year. The songs, all primarily beat- and lyric-driven, tell the stories of female outcasts at odds with the modern world.

Nyssa is long-time regular and now co-organizer at Dan Burke’s annual Death To T.O. Halloween shows, where local musicians dress up and play full sets as other bands. She’s channelled Rod Stewart, INXS, Robert Palmer, Mick Jagger and Elvis. This year, for a special Valentine’s Day edition, she’ll perform as Meatloaf. She always chooses artists she wants to “become a little bit,” and it’s inspired her own music, but she won’t forget the baggage that comes with it.

“In rock and roll we still have all these very out-of-date male archetypes of excess. Just pure appetite,” she says. “And there are obviously a lot of troubling stories.”

“So I would like to take the good and the fun and the no-holds-barred sexuality and take away all of the uh…” she pauses for a second, searching for the right word and then lets out a bemused laugh, “...horrible bullshit.” RICHARD TRAPUNSKI

Nyssa plays (as Meatloaf) at Death To T.O. On Valentine’s Day on February 14 at Lee’s Palace.

More Artists To Watch

Jesse Crowe launched Praises to focus on more personal inner questions about gender expression and health than they could tackle in their main project, Beliefs. But with the recent Hand Drawn Dracula release of the addictive three-song EP Three – co-produced by their Beliefs collaborator Josh Korody – it’s overtaken that shoegaze band as the project to watch. The songs are stark and dramatic, minimalist and heavy, with a voice that makes you stop dead in your tracks. After recuperating from cancer surgery, Crowe will return to the stage this year and finish the follow-up to their 2018 debut album In This Year: Ten Of Swords.

Praises plays the Monarch Tavern on March 27.

Cindy Lee

Patrick Flegel, formerly of the short-lived but influential Calgary post-punk band Women, calls Cindy Lee the culmination of a lifelong exploration of guitar, queer identity and gender expression. The songs on the upcoming album What’s Tonight To Eternity (out February 14) are ethereal in the literal sense, exorcising ghostly echoes of the Supremes, Patsy Cline and Karen Carpenter – pop’s uncanny valley.

Scott Hardware

After a stint in Berlin, electronic art-pop artist Scot Hardware has spent the last few years back in Toronto making his new sophomore album Engel (Telephone Explosion), and he’ll release it on April 3 before another extended jaunt in Europe. Inspired by Wim Wenders’s film Wings Of Desire, it’s an eclectic and uncategorizable piano-and-strings-speckled meditation on queerness, shame, death and the afterlife.

Scott Hardware plays at the Boat on January 30.

The sound: Soft sounds for the comedown

Ziibiwan is an electronic musician, but they don’t make music for the club.

“[Musician/artist] Melody McKiver explained it nicely: [my music] is what you play after the club when you’re like, ‘I’ve had too many gin and tonics and I need to chill out,’” Ziibiwan says with a smile.

While living in foster care, music was a release for Ziibiwan. They played piano and guitar, and later experimented with electronic music through a digital audio work station. They covered Radiohead and Foo Fighters songs, and were enamoured with whatever was playing on BET. But it wasn’t until they moved to Jane and Finch that Ziibiwan made their own music.

“I was working at Loblaws on St. Clair West, doing the graveyard shift, and I would commute from Jane and Finch. I was on my laptop most of the time and I would record everything,” Ziibiwan says about the making of their 2016 debut EP Time Limits, a collection of beat-centric songs that evoke textured imagery.

“There were a lot of problems going on in my life then, and I felt like the land was giving me something. Not just the land but the cultures around me at Jane and Finch,” continues the musician, who’s currently living in Hamilton to care for their family. “It was one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve had in my life.”

Following the EP’s release, Ziibiwan, who also performs as DJ Nimkiiwitch, opened for acts like A Tribe Called Red, played at Venus Fest and composed scores for two short animated films by Amanda Strong. Next month, Ziibiwan and McKiver will perform their original score for the play God’s Lake as it tours throughout British Columbia. This week at the Music Gallery, Ziibiwan will celebrate the release of their new album, Giizis.

Ziibiwan describes Giizis as more soft and introspective than their previous music, and it will feature their voice for the first time. For Ziibiwan, Giizis – an Anishinaabemowin word they define as, “the moon, the sun and the eastern direction, which is all kind of a new beginning” – is the start of a new and more intimate creative chapter.

“I want to introduce this version of who I am to people because people don’t really know me beyond making beats,” they explain.

“My friend once said that we don’t have to always be performative with [our] Indigeneity and we also don’t always have to protest in our music. That’s what most Native rap is. It’s always they, they, they and us. It’s always plural and not really introspective at all.

“We deserve our own music.” LAURA STANLEY

Ziibiwan plays an album release show on Saturday (January 25) at the Music Gallery at 918 Bathurst with Phèdre and Melody McKiver.

More Artists To Watch

Xuan Ye

Interdisciplinary artist Xuan Ye approaches sound manipulation with boundless curiosity. The improvised electronic pieces on her debut LP xi xi 息息 (out now via Halocline Trance) shudder, whine, whisper and shout. The detailed sonic layers force you to drop everything, breathe and listen.

Xuan Ye performs as part of Convergence Theory on Saturday (January 25) at the Victory Social Club.

Astro Mega

Listening to Astro Mega’s (aka Jermaine Clarke) extensive catalogue of songs feels like slipping into a warm bath while a party happens on the other side of the door. His 80s- and 90s-hip-hop-inspired beats are muted and chill, often with a collage of sampled voices. Listen to 97’ Kobe from his recent LP GodBodyDevine if you want a vivid memory of playing NBA Live 97 in somebody’s basement.

BisonBison is a new multi-genre collaborative project between electronic producers Dani Ramez (Spookyfish) and Chad Skinner (Snowday) with producer and drummer Brad Weber (Caribou), multi-instrumentalist Sinéad Bermingham and vocalist Sophia Alexandra. On their upcoming debut album Hover (due out February 7), they meld the gentle sensibilities of folk with disquieted electronics in hypnotic convergence.

BisonBison play a release party on February 1 at the Garrison with ANZOLA and Kira May.

Luna Li

The sound: The all-ages scene grows up

As a teenager, Hannah Bussiere Kim straddled two worlds. Her mother ran a music school in Roncesvalles, and she trained in classical piano and violin, taking Royal Conservatory exams and performing at recitals. On weekends, though, she was at DIY shows at now-shuttered all-ages venues like D-Beatstro and the Central.

She left Toronto to study violin at McGill, but dropped out after one semester. She wanted to start her own band.

In 2015, she started a garage rock group, Veins, which morphed into her solo project Luna Li two years later.

“When I was first starting out, I thought, ‘Rock and roll is cool, the violin is not,’” says the 23-year-old. “It took me a long time to figure out how to incorporate my classical background into Luna Li.”

On her debut full-length, to be self-released this spring, she combines swelling psychedelic guitar and chiming keys with soulful orchestral arrangements of violin, harp and cello. She enlisted her brother, Lucas Kim, to play the cello and her producer, Braden Sauder, for drums. Everything else she plays herself. And she’s putting new parts of herself into the songs, too.

“Many of my older songs were crafted out of poems or were vague in meaning,” says Bussiere Kim. “A lot of [the new ones] deal with mental health, loneliness and friendship. They’re more direct and clear, and vulnerable.”

She’s also inspired by a new wave of Asian American female musicians like Japanese Breakfast, Jay Som and Mitski. “I’m half-Korean and that kind of representation – of actually going to shows and seeing people who look like me – was key,” she says. “When I was in high school, I never saw a band fronted by an Asian person.”

Last fall, Luna Li played festivals almost every weekend with her live band – Sauder, Hallie Switzer, Charise Aragoza and Sabrina Carrizo Sztainbok – and landed big opening slots for bands like Hollerado.

She’s still involved in the tight-knit all-ages scene from her high school days. It’s just all grown up now.

In addition to Luna Li, she plays guitar in the psych band Mother Tongues (also with Aragoza) and drums in the art pop group Tange, which is made up of ex-Pins & Needles members Deanna Petcoff and her Luna Li bandmate, Carrizo Sztainbok. Meanwhile, her boyfriend Jacob Switzer plays in indie rock group Goodbye Honolulu.

In 2020, she plans to focus on Luna Li and tour in the spring when the album is out. And hopefully, many of those shows can be all-ages.

“It’s hard to do all-ages shows because so many DIY spaces have shut down,” says Bussiere Kim. “But it’s really important that everyone feels welcome at my shows, and that includes young people.” SAMANTHA EDWARDS

More Artists To Watch

Goodbye Honolulu

While they were still in high school, Jacob Switzer, Emmett S. Webb, Max Bornstein and Fox Martindale started Goodbye Honolulu and the label Fried Records as a home for their music and their friends in the all-ages scene. The garage rock band has a penchant for punchy riffs and gang vocals, and it’s taking them beyond the city. Next month, they’re supporting the Beaches on their cross-country tour and then heading down south to play SXSW.

Goodbye Honolulu opens for the Beaches at Danforth Music Hall on February 28 and February 29.

This year brings good news for longtime fans of Sam Bielanski’s grunge-pop project. After two EPs, countless Toronto shows and playing in Pretty Matty’s live band, Pony’s finally releasing their debut full-length this year. On the woozy first single Limerence, Bielanksi sings about the crushing feeling of unrequited love. Fittingly, this February she’s playing the emo-themed tribute night Taking Back Valentine’s Day (February 14 at Junction City Music Hall) in a Paramore cover band.

Moscow Apartment

In the three years since Brighid Fry and Pascale Padilla formed their indie folk-rock band Moscow Apartment, they’ve released their debut self-titled EP, won a Canadian Folk Music Award and toured across the country – all before they graduated high school. This spring, the teenagers are releasing their sophomore EP and playing shows during March Break (they’re still in high school, after all), while being outspoken advocates for the all-ages scene and climate justice.

Moscow Apartment plays the Paradise Theatre on January 30.

The sound: Disco reconnected to its roots

A half century after the heyday of disco, Tush is helping the genre stay alive.

The project, which started as a seven-piece live disco band called Mainline in 2015, now consists of just two core members: vocalist Kamilah Apong and bassist Jamie Kidd.

While their music draws from funk and soul and follows the four-to-the-floor beat typified by disco, they’re more than a vintage throwback.

“Disco is such a loaded term,” says Apong, who previously played in the band Unbuttoned. “For us, it means thinking about how music was made in the origins of [the genre] and keeping to those practices, which was experimentation and [that it was] so much of a social, cultural music.

“Black women were such a huge cultural connection, and disco is deeply ingrained in Black and queer communities.”

Naming Universal Togetherness Band and the Brothers Johnson as some early influences, Tush released an EP, Do You Feel Excited?, in 2018. Their latest single, Don’t Be Afraid, is an atmospheric slow burn propelled by Apong’s gospel-style vocals exhorting us to love defiantly. This summer, they’re planning on releasing their first full-length album.

“What we strive for is depth in the music, lyrics and themes that you don’t find in what most people think of as disco – like more of the later, whitewashed, commercial stuff,” Kidd explains. “We’re making lyric-based dance music that incorporates live instrumentation and more contemporary electronic techniques.”

Tush are a versatile band, and they’ve performed in grand ballrooms like the Palais Royale, rock clubs like the Baby G and underground warehouse parties. Recently, in order to tour more freely and take on gigs at intimate clubs, they’ve distilled their seven-piece live band into a live PA trio that includes Alexa Belgrave on keys.

Kidd, a veteran of Toronto’s electronic scene who co-founded long-running event promoters Box of Kittens and puts on their popular Sunday Afternoon Social parties, has witnessed the gradual loss of the city’s live music venues, especially those accommodating of dance music. But his genuine love for the local scene and all the talent in it encourages him to continue on.

“Something I’ve always strived for is authenticity and doing it for the right reasons,” he says. “With Tush, we’re just doing what we feel most connected to.”

Apong agrees, adding that there’s strong support for contemporary disco in the city. “Everyone dances, no one’s trying to flex or look cool,” she says. “When we throw our own shows, our people show up.” MICHELLE DA SILVA

More Artists To Watch

Born Ryan Anthony Robinson, R. Flex is a queer Black singer, electronic producer and cabaret performer blending R&B and dance music. A backing vocalist in Tush’s seven-piece live band, R. Flex released their own EP, In & Out, in 2018, and since performed in Glad Day’s Black Power Cabaret and at Queer Pop: LGBTQ+ Music & Arts Festival.

Catch R. Flex singing covers as part of Just Like A Pill on January 31.

The DJ, producer, composer and keyboardist born James Harris has been releasing music spanning disco, funk, deep house, dub and jazz since his 2017 debut EP, Memoirs. When he’s not performing or creating visuals for the electronic monthly Astral Projections, he’s co-running Cosmic Resonance, Toronto’s most exciting progressive jazz-fusion electronic label.

Babygirl

One of Toronto’s hardest-working DJs, Katie Lavoie is a fixture on the queer dance party circuit. Catch her spinning everything from Hi-NRG to juke house, pop bangers and big gay anthems at her monthly residency Freak Like Me at the Black Eagle, and on her ISO Radio show Therapeutic Hotness. Babygirl is also part of the team at Intersessions, which teaches women and LGBTQ-identifying folks how to DJ.

Babygirl plays Freak Like Me with Chippy Nonstop and Karim Olen Ash this Friday (January 24) at the Black Eagle.

The sound: Exploding the “Canadian sound”

Haniely Pableo is a cardiac nurse by day, rapper by night. As Han Han, she sings and raps in Tagalog and Cebuano, challenging notions of what makes music “sound” Canadian.

Hip-hop once seemed like an unlikely career for Pableo, but she’s driven by a desire to overthrow patriarchal-racist-exploitative systems. She enjoys creating positive change through challenging conversations, like one she recently had with a man in Tanzania.

“He said that his daughter could go to school and get educated all she wants but when she’s home, she needs to respect and serve her husband,” she recalls. “I argued with him – wouldn’t he want his daughter to be treated like an equal by the husband, [not] a servant? We went on and on.

“I [have] a lot of conversations like this when I travel or go home to the Philippines.”

Her passion for changing the narrative first collided with Toronto’s arts and music scene in 2006, when she immigrated to Canada and took a poetry workshop. After years of performing around the city as part of the collectives Santa Guerrilla and PSL (Poetry is our Second Language), she released her self-titled debut album in 2014. On her upcoming second album, URDUJA, she delves even deeper.

“Each song is different, but [it’s] mostly about the complexities of being a woman,” she explains. “How to be strong. How to be vulnerable. That you can’t always be fierce.”

Inspired by her late grandmother, she named the album after the folkloric Filipino warrior princess revered for power and leadership.

“She’s the opposite of the stereotype that we have today – that Filipina women have to be submissive and happy. That’s what I want to manifest on the album, that we’re more complex. We can be angry, sad, happy, confident and all those emotions exist on an equal spectrum.”

Pableo, who will play a Venus Fest-presented release show with fellow Filipina-Canadian acts Charise Aragoza and sketch comedy troupe Tita Collective, hopes it also challenges the idea that there’s such a thing as a unified Canadian sound.

“We’re missing out on a lot of talent and creativity [when] we stick to a narrow-minded view on what Canadian music is and is not. It’s not progressive or empowering to those communities who are always neglected and ignored,” she argues. “Canada always prides itself [on] diversity and multiculturalism, so it should follow naturally that the music scene reflects those values.”

Pableo acknowledges a growing celebration of diverse Canadian music and cites acts like Maylee Todd as important trailblazers. But she’s committed to making her music until she’s just one of many.

“My hope is that Filipino-Canadian music and talent [become] appreciated, recognized and respected. That’s my personal goal. That’s why I’m still here.” CHAKA V. GRIER

Han Han plays an URDUJA release show at Lula Lounge on January 30.

More Artists To Watch

Honest, empowering lyrics. Self-love and body positivity. A voice that blows the roof off. No, it’s not Lizzo. It’s LU KALA. The Congolese-Canadian singer is known for her flaming orange hair and songs like DCMO (Don’t Count Me Out) that you want to cry and dance to. She’s worked behind the scenes as a songwriter, and now she’s preparing to release her debut album. Its first single, Body Knew, will be out next month.

Duo Elizabeth Rodriguez and Magdelys Savigne released their lush debut, Sombras, in 2019. OKAN's vocal- and percussion-driven tracks evoke their homeland yet also reflect the vibrant Cuban-Canadian community. On their album artwork they’re in full Latin garb, perched regally against a snow-covered landscape – the perfect illustration of their sound. This summer they’ll release their sophomore album, Espiral, and tour through North America and India.

Amaka Queenette

In the summer of 2018, Amaka Queenette quietly released her astute and far-too-brief Vacant EP. At just 19, the Nigerian-born singer’s lyrics and voice hold the composure of someone twice her age. Soulful and elegant, she moves between jazz, R&B and gospel with ease while singing about isolation and soul-searching. This spring she’ll release a visual EP, Fleeting, Inconsequential.

The sound: Heavy psych from the depths

Paul Ciuk laments the lack of meaningful connections in Toronto’s music scene.

“The sense of community we have here is totally broken,” explains the drummer for proto-metal quartet Häxan.

In the band’s experience, power dynamics are often unbalanced and musicians are reluctant to help others unless it helps themselves. But Häxan has seen that there’s an alternative – they’re proof of how supportive a small but dedicated community can be, especially if they have a space to congregate.

Though some of the friendships in Häxan span decades, the real genesis of the band happened at now shuttered Kensington Market metal venue Coalition. In 2015, with only a theatre degree in her performance arsenal, vocalist Kayley Bomben (also one of Coalition’s founding bartenders/promoters/managers) made the leap to front a Germs cover band with guitarist Paul Colosimo and bassist Eric Brauer for a one-off covers night.

“Coalition acted like a big tent because you could see all different kinds of metal there,” Brauer explains. “It was a pivotal venue for us to be able to work out the band dynamic,” Bomben agrees.

Häxan matured from punk cover band to Stooges-inspired grunge act and slowly conjured the fiery intensity of the psychedelic metal they play now. After finalizing their lineup with Ciuk, they quickly slipped into a heavy vintage groove.

A fascination with the occult didn’t hurt, either. Their name is a reference to a 1922 silent film that explores how superstition wrongly linked mental illness to witchcraft. “When we think of people as evil because they’re different, that leads to a lot of horrible things,” Bomben says.

Their debut album, set to be released this spring, furthers the fascination. It’s named Aradia, after a tome of Italian folklore that positions witchcraft against hierarchy and oppression. (The first single, Baba Yaga, just dropped on Bandcamp.)

The album was produced by Alia O’Brien of Badge Époque Ensemble and Blood Ceremony, who knows a thing or two about how pagan rituals and witchy vibes should sound. Häxan credit that connection to Fuzzed and Buzzed. The local label took a chance on them early, putting them on last year’s half-cover/half-original Altar Box 7" compilation where the band first collaborated with O’Brien.

“Nobody has ever done anything like this for any of our other bands before,” Colosimo says. Bomben agrees, pinpointing the key to thriving in the city’s metal scene. “You really have to find the people who are willing to help each other out.” MICHAEL RANCIC

More Artists To Watch

Look out for this mysterious project to make waves later this year. More within the psychedelic camp than metal, ROY still bring plenty of heaviness – biting, raw guitar lines rendered through a thick cloud of analog tape haze. But they temper that weight with dreamy keyboard-conjured paisley sublimities. Think the schoolhouse rock of Darlene Shrugg, or the dense psychedelic tapestries of Tony Price.

Rough Spells

Häxan’s Fuzzed and Buzzed labelmates occupy similar psychedelic and doomy territory and also have a full-length ready. They match Häxan’s occult metal intensity with stellar vocal harmonies and incisive lyrics. Their most recent single, Grise Fiord, is named for Canada’s most northerly community and a site of forced Inuit relocation in the 50s. All proceeds from the track go to It Starts With Us, an organization that honours the memory of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Two-Spirit and Trans people.

Erythrite Throne

Mysterious figure Wyrm has completely thrown themselves into the dark and dank atmospherics of dungeon synth, a black-metal-adjacent style that emerged in the 80s. They’ve released a ridiculously prolific amount of music in little over a year under the Erythrite Throne moniker: 18 albums on Bandcamp starting in 2018, including one on January 1 of this year. Don’t be overwhelmed: their mostly instrumental music is moody and wholly engrossing. Start with The Blind Hag’s Lair.

This content was originally published here.

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arabellaflynn · 7 years

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Okay, like the fourth total stranger has now suggested that ye ballroom instructor has a crush on me. Y'all aren't crazy; this has also crossed my mind. He did kick this off with pretty classic crush behavior: A sudden barrage of attention out of nowhere, that he kept up for a solid two weeks or so, until he got clear acknowledgement that I'd noticed. My initial read of him was that he is exactly as gay as the stereotype of male dancers would suggest, but this all was actually ambiguous enough to make me reconsider that. The thing is, this is still ambiguous. The reason that kind of behavior comes about with crushes is that wanting to bone someone makes the idea of fucking up your first conversation with them carry a lot of emotional weight, so you get super nervous about it. The sudden burst of attention happens because it takes an extra push to get over the inhibitory effect of What if I screw it up? and make yourself start. The internal wrestling and abrupt resolution is usually invisible to your target, which is what makes it look like all the talking comes out of left field. This pattern is not specific to sexual attraction. It's specific to social anxiety. One of my current friends-turned-housemate is a Medically-Certified Nervous Person. The first time she talked right to me on purpose, she managed to make herself do it on the grounds that she was A Photographer and wanted to Know About Modeling Rates, and her hands were still shaking the whole time. She eventually got past it, but the first time was really nerve-wracking because she didn't know what would happen, and the brain of an anxious person is an unfortunately fertile ground for creativity. Up to the point ye ballroom instructor started talking to me, we were strangers. Obvs. I'd only ever seen him in the operating mode he uses to deal with the public, which is very bubbly and kind of vehemently charming in all directions. The very first time he decided to camp at my station and chat, he was blazing very very bright, and said a few things that even at the time I noted were glib bordering on babble, and wondered if he went off and kicked himself for it later. There was a bit of time before I told him outright that I was aware that there was other stuff going on behind the kilowatt grin and that I wanted to know what it was. Apparently I was convincing, because he spent a week or two sounding like he was on wobbly footing before settling down into just being much quieter when I was the only one around. This is all also consistent with social anxiety. It's kind of an unusual manifestation overall, but common for those who've learned to cope with it by ginning up confidence at other people so well that nobody else notices the turmoil. Such as, for an obvious example, performers. It keeps well-meaning people from sitting on you and trying to fix it when all you really want to do is be left alone to regroup. It trips up people who don't grok it well, because as a general rule you'd expect someone who was getting less nervous to talk more and not less, but that's not really how it works when the thing you've learned to hide is that you're considerably more thinky, and in weirder directions, than is strictly normal. [He also identifies as queer, which adds another layer to it. From what other friends have told me, they did the same thing as they became increasingly aware that their new queer-person thoughts were not "normal", until they decided to come out. I stuffed a sock in it when I was a kid for different reasons, but to pretty much the same effect: I limped along being scared of punishment and feeling like I was existing wrong until I realized that keeping it bottled up was probably going to kill me. It's not strictly equivalent, but inasmuch as I had to be removed from one elementary school because the bullies were escalating to physical violence, I feel like I at least know enough to properly sympathize.] The reason I am not in a hurry to clear this up is that there is really nothing to clear on my end. I gather from reading advice columns and /r/relationships that most people think "dating" and "friends" are two completely separate things. If you want one and the other person wants the other, then most people feel disappointed, if not betrayed. I do not think these things are particularly different. Dates are good friends I sometimes don't wear pants with. It goes along with me not really grasping jealousy on the list of "stuff that gets me into a lot of trouble", mainly because they are things other people lie about a lot, both to themselves and others, and I'm afraid nobody will believe me when I explain how I work. Ye ballroom dance instructor has turned out to be the kind of brilliantly odd person I want in my life regardless -- two of the initial guesses I whiffed on were not realizing he's a rather affectionate and empathetic soul if he likes you, and also that he is terrifyingly intelligent to the point where he is also very good at redirecting people's attention before they notice that. I find him very easy to talk to, and also easy to not talk to, which is even more unusual. I still couldn't tell you why he decided he wanted to talk to me, but he wanted to badly enough to make himself do it, which is pretty flattering. If he wants to wear less pants around me, then I'd be more than happy to give that a whirl. I'm not particularly fussed if he doesn't, either. "Awesome new friend" is not a losing condition. from Blogger http://ift.tt/2g5Hg43 via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

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philaprint · 7 years

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Revolution Music

FEBRUARY 28, 2017

By Karas Lamb

“Is Prince dead?” The question flooded in on the morning of April 21st, 2016. A rush to communal panic that fed my gut the truth faster than any search engine could ever deliver a credible source. Prince was, in fact, deceased. Found slumped in an elevator at his famed Paisley Park complex in Chanhassen, Minnesota. A hop and a skip from First Avenue. Floating somewhere in the ether just beyond our grasp, where he had always truly been most comfortable.

This was the second time in life that I had spent an entire week in my pajamas, digesting headlines with my jaw planted squarely on the floor; the first was 9/11. This scene, however, was colored by a dread that left me wondering aloud whether the bootleg hoarding Prince disciples in my social circles were managing to breathe. Worried that black music might not survive the sudden departure of a man who was arguably its most fearless leader.

Amiri Baraka famously eulogized James Baldwin as “God’s black revolutionary mouth.” Much less loquacious, but no less brash, Prince may have been God’s beautiful black revenge. A fiercely private, arguably maniacal prodigy whose distant nature, physical ambiguity and staggering musical genius afforded him super powers that had evaded the grasp of his forebears. This diminutive and strikingly beautiful sensation was the kind of middle finger to the establishment that only black music could produce. In his assessment of Baldwin’s life and work, Baraka made a point that would later apply to Prince.

‘When we saw and heard him, he made us feel good. He made us feel, for one thing, that we could defend ourselves or define ourselves, that we were in the world not merely as animate slaves, but as terrifyingly sensitive measurers of what is good or evil, beautiful or ugly. This is the power of his spirit. This is the bond which created our love for him. This is the fire that terrifies our pitiful enemies. That not only are we alive but shatteringly precise in our songs and our scorn.’ (Baraka, NYT - 1987)

The most obvious heir to James Brown’s throne, bedazzled and doused in indifference, Prince was an exacting bandleader and prolific creator with little time for outside opinions or anything short of absolute risk. If the recording industry had captured lightning in a bottle with the commodification of our blues, the birth of Prince Rogers Nelson was the rare seismic event just cold enough to shatter the glass. Prince arrived and obliterated the idea that any one ad man, disc jockey, blue-eyed soul sensation or well-heeled industry exec could ever possibly have black music - let alone black people - all figured out.

A one-man synthesis of righteousness, raunch, macho and sass, Prince embodied every melodic translation of black struggle and chewed its most poignant statements into a frenzied other-worldly funk that oozed from his pores and dripped down the fretboard of his guitar into the mouths of a generation thirsty for some sign that it was okay to disrupt for reasons other than color-coded provincial turf battles or the historically holy grails of the black working class -- education, economic opportunity and access to the ballot box.

In Prince, black youth found its collective creative possibility and a pass to experiment. An intersectionality underpinned by the shouts of the church, the stomp of the jook joint, the angular poses of the ballroom and the inescapable stank of a sexually charged funk gestated in a post-”free love” era just loud and proud enough to push America’s lingering Puritanical notions from a speeding drop-top to preserve the life of the party. He spoke our language but was not ashamed of the black body or governed by the strict directives on social etiquette fed to black children through clenched teeth by justifiably fearful parents. Living and creating outside the monolith, Prince was tangible evidence that burning the rule book might not get us all killed. A unique station described by Questlove in a 2016 editorial for Rolling Stone.

Prince was singular in his music. He was his own genre. That same singularity extended to everything. He went the other way in life, too. As he got older, the way he managed his career showed off that contrary streak. It came to the forefront in the way he mastered his records, in the way he handled reissues, in the way he used (or didn't use) the Internet and online streaming services. In the summer of 2014, his old band, the Revolution, reunited at First Avenue in Minneapolis. They were all set up for him to join in and play. He drove right past. Prince was a great drummer, and he was always marching to his own beat.

With that particular strain of individuality foremost in their minds, a burgeoning mass of new black leftists followed suit, marching past the rhythmic constraints of the standard and the first tastes of pop culture visibility on the Soul Train line to test the limits of society and sound. This legion of fans would produce more devotees invigorated by constant threat of damnation for playing the devil’s music and the seductive allure of a transcendent “post-black” identity where the overstatement of a perpetually apparent racial identifier was much less important than the perfection of craft, the erasure of binaries and the proliferation of an explicitly black art.

Described as “the liberating value in tossing off the immense burden of race-wide representation, the idea that everything they do must speak to or for or about the entire race,” post-blackness seems a necessary component of the rebuilding process as black America collects itself in the wake of Prince’s final curtain call. A loss mourned with memes and dance parties and exacerbated by the anxiety of a fraught election year peppered with instances of state-sanctioned violence. A loss punctuated by the imminent departure of the first sitting black president, who would ultimately pass the keys to a fascist demagogue.

Not to be confused with the deceptive buzzword “post-racial,” the term coined by artists Thelma Golden and Glenn Ligon is a call to abandon the one size fits all blackness dictated by policy and propaganda, to do away with abusive intraracial identity politics, and be black however one sees fit. An embrace of that kind of individuality ultimately creates room for life and art to transcend the boxes we are otherwise corralled into for everything from federal identification and police profiling to public congratulation for creative works; projects often judged and awarded by those still invested in the perpetuation of oppression with little to no proximity to the black experience as it exists outside of pop culture.

My devastation at the death of a musical icon could technically be filed under first world problems until you consider that black music is the most unadulterated, uninterrupted telling of the black experience in America. A prolonged circumstance of collective suffering and systemic injustice proximate to the wealth of almost every world power. One that is often glossed over as little more than an innocuous dalliance with inhumanity that should have no bearing on the modern American psyche nor be of any tangible benefit to the people that continually survive and serve lemonade.

Combined with the lack of a decisive heir to Prince’s musical legacy and a minority of musicians fluent in his particular tongue, the vacancy created by his passing forces creatives of color to step to the plate in numbers. To bury the dead, bathe in the waters of Lake Minnetonka and summon the chops necessary to spit the next chapter of the story -- one that began in languages broken bylaws and distance and chains, which only remain fresh in our minds because they are sequenced into our blood and our drums. One that has been slow to surface as artists at the top of the pile drag their feet or face being silenced altogether when it comes to the work of change.

The Black American musical tradition is necessarily derived from black discomfort. The future of it, however, cannot be informed solely by savage inequalities or scorned love. The relative lack of mainstream innovation in recent years should also drive the evolution of the sound; a hybridized chromatic vamp from a strata above the abiding hum that girds our churches and the fragrant Adhan that billows from mosques, blanketing our ghettos.

Past the loud affirmation of “black lives matter” and the rattle of trunks teeming with balls out posturing and bass, the music must empower a new generation of singular talents to rise to the occasion in a time of revolution as rights are restricted, rules of engagement are erased, people are targeted, and citizenship is decided by an economy of fear. It must be a sound as reflective of micro-aggressions, political resistance, queerness and personal trauma as it is aspirational, opulent, and indicative of the future. It must continue the conversation.

Something stronger than the myopic lens of major radio programming and the capitalist appropriation habits of off-white pop stars that portray songs penned in the latest African dialects as the property of everyone but blacks. A product bigger than the tall tales that convince rising artists to trade the noble tradition of running the baddest band in the land for fast publicity. Something better than the derivative movements that reward culture vulture cool kids for disrespecting foundational artists with half-baked versions of their hard fought work. This blues need be wholly representative of each individual committed to burning the existing paradigm to make clear that blackness is much too vast, varied and involved to be mass produced.

After all, it was not grace but guts that fueled Prince - the man who notoriously gilded his own ass and gave it to the world to kiss. Who stalled the label gaming him and had the last laugh. He spent his career insisting that we are not obligated to perform our grief for pennies. We are indebted to the colossal talents we cannot thank enough, to create outside of the matrix of fear induced by constant policing and the respectability politics of the American caste. To boycott the gatekeepers that refuse to get us or give us an inch unless they stand to get a check.

To live outside the lines on blocks where the wrong uniform can get you rejected by the tribe. To speak our pidjin and flip our birds and fly our spacecraft. To put our titties on the glass. To love openly in a time of narcissism. To canonize our respective wounds and create ourselves beyond the palette of police sketches and alien rubrics for excellence. To be exactly who we say we are, because a people can never be fully realized through the repetition of hymns made in a vacuum of homogeneity and threats aimed at every enemy except the one that has sterilized our bodies, stuffed our mouths with treasury notes and promoted the myth that nothing else matters. We matter. Now is not the time to fake the funk.

‘I just had another phone meeting

 Felt like I was all alone speaking

 To the clones keeping, black music soul weeping

 I'm a new angel, and they only want the old demons

 Glorifying music, that's abusive and a threat to us 

And if you got a message in your records 

You collecting dust upon the shelf 

They selling us components meant to self-destruct 

To shelter us in skelter in disguise of something helping us 

So I'ma build a bunker now, in the underground 

Surviving with that other sound 

Clipping magazines, repeating this ain't had to be

 Self-published, but we're still running for covers now 

Imagine me in pageantries, we branded as awards 

What's the difference 'tween them auction blocks and cooning for applause

 Even selling out, or buying something that you can't afford 

It ain't a plan to keep us poor, it's just a plan to be ignored’

- Oddisee, “Want Something”

http://bit.ly/PPWBlackFutureSeries

#music #revolution #black lives matter #prince #activism #philaprint

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ladytwofangs · 5 years

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January 1

I got into LAX just before 1AM on the 30th. On the plane, I read 100 pages of In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens by Alice Walker, and then fell asleep listening to some podcast about the Zodiac Killer. I woke up as the plane landed. Matt picked me up and although it felt like 3AM for me, still on central time, I was bubbly and good-spirited on the drive back, genuinely happy to be there. We got back and it took me a while to get to sleep.

Yesterday morning, I had coffee and talked to Matt’s roommates. We went for a walk around the neighborhood and I felt happy, Orange is actually one of my favorite places. It makes me feel clear-headed about the future and what I want. Basically, I want to live in a corner of the world where there are little old houses and cats, trees and sidewalks. I want to take walks and talk and look around. I want to live in a place that invites a long meandering walk, and to be with someone who wants to walk beside me.

We went to a thrift store and I got an awesome NYE outfit - a sparkly mesh jacket and a polka dot blouse, just a bit longer than a crop top, perfect with my high rise jeans. Then, we went to the grocery store. And Chik-Fil-A after. We came back, unloaded the groceries, ate, and watched 2 episodes of The Sopranos (season 6B, the 5th to last and 4th to last episodes-- poor Christopher : (

It’s a bit cold in their apartment, the cement just traps the cold in. I got sleepy and said I needed to check out my eyelids for a few minutes. My legs were draped over Matt’s lap, and Annie was laying on top of them, so he was pretty well trapped but said that was fine. I woke up 30 minutes later, took a shower, and got ready. We stopped in at the Kwikie Mart before we left and Matt got a little handle of Jameson to start drinking on the way over. I drove to Studio City, we stopped for gas, then got dinner at a sushi place. I had sake, beef bulgogi, and rice. I’m getting better at chopsticks. Matt got a sushi roll that he said was amazing, “had good mouthfeel.” We got to Oil Can Harry’s around 8:45, paid our $25, and danced intently until midnight, minus a few rests on a leather couch/the bar on the 2nd floor. Matt was a trooper and seemed to have fun, but I’m sure it would have been more fun with a group of girls. It was a fun place to be on New Years Eve though. I didn’t know it was a gay bar, but it was neat to see so many queer couples, queer ballroom dancers, a generally very queer vibe.

I drank a weird mixture of things, sake, a shot of Jameson, an Angry Orchard, a gin and tonic, and a glass of champagne. This morning, I’m feeling a little hungover, not terribly but a headache for sure. If I feel any kind of way right now, it’s mostly confused. I remember when I first started dating Matt, I had a feeling of relief. I didn’t have to carry around a malaise of disappointment and yearning anymore. That feeling is a half-in feeling. I always think of this quote Julie Delpy’s characters says in Before Sunrise.

“So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like traveling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. I wished I’d been with someone else. I knew that what I was feeling – exactly what was so important to me – they didn’t understand.”

I felt glad to be with Matt early on, felt that we were co-conspirators in beautiful moments, meaningful moments. But now, last night, the feeling was back. Right now, I’m sitting here in his apartment but something feels wrong, off, not quite right.

That feeling alarms me because it means I am going through the motions, I am here but also somewhere else, a bit detached and searching. And I wonder what that means for anything I hope to do in the New Year.

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thecourtneychronicles · 5 years

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“What’s the writing process for a show like Under the Covers?

It starts with the title. Well, it starts with the poster! You’re forced into a title, image and concept. This one is covers of covers – It’s Oh So Quiet by Bjork, Gloria by Laura Branigan are covers… I did the show last year around the UK and Australia. Underbelly asked me to bring it back this year at South Bank!

Will there be any changes this time?

I’ll be doing it with a band. A few songs, a few hairdos, and the encore might be ballroom dancing…

Were you happy with the reaction to Dancing with the Stars?

It’s been amazing. Maybe I didn’t delve deep enough into negative comments and feedback, but everyone seems supportive. People were like ‘It’s weird this should be a first.’

Would you do Strictly?

If they asked. But I feel having just done Dancing With the Stars precludes me from that.

It’s so striking, the difference between the Australian and the UK versions, when it comes to gender formats…

Ballroom dancing, especially in the UK, is a very rigid, old school thing. That’s used as an excuse to not move with the times. But surely my appearance on Dancing With the Stars will encourage Strictly to have same-sex partnerships?

What else do you have coming up this year?

My schedule is up in the air. I’ve got all these spinning plates. We just shot a pilot in LA for a late night talk show!

Does negative commentary bother you?

No. There’s been very little negative backlash to Big Brother, Dancing With the Stars, The Bi Life, the Christmas special, any of those things in the mainstream.

I asked Jinkx Monsoon about the extremes of Drag Race fandom; when it oversteps the line into abuse. LGBT people who…

…not always. The majority of the Drag Race fandom is straight women. There’s definitely a level of toxicity in the fandom. But the problem is, it’s a vocal minority. Often, one negative comment, and it’s ‘people are saying this!’ People aren’t saying it. A person said it. You have to be mindful of how much attention you pay to negative comments.

You’ve been in entertainment for so long – has it always been like this?

We didn’t have social media when I was on Australian Idol! Or YouTube, comments sections – we barely had the Internet! It’s been interesting watching it evolve. I think it’s gotten better, because there’s more accountability on social. And there’s a block button, which I use.

Have you ever blocked a famous person?

I’ve certainly muted a few!

Do you feel pressure from society to appear a certain way, or the way society thinks nonbinary people should present, because of the misconception that you can’t be femme nonbinary or masc nonbinary, otherwise you might as well subscribe to male or female?

People who are nonbinary, gender nonconforming, gender-queer, gender-fluid – by definition, they’ve already stepped away from society’s expectations. The whole point of self-identification is, you’re the one who decided. So it’s counter-intuitive to the process. But yeah, I’m sure there are pressures. It’s interesting because I remember many years ago when I discovered the term gender-fluid. I felt liberated from the expectation of gender. It literally set me free from 30-something years of one of my biggest and most consistent battles. The expectation to ‘be a man.’

Do you remember coming into contact with the term?

Yes. Chaz Bono and I were having a conversation. We became good friends after Drag Race. We were on the phone and he said ‘have you ever heard of the term gender-fluid?’ I was like ‘no, what’s that?’ He described it to me and it as a pivotal moment.

From my late teens, 20s, I thought the only option was to be cis or trans. I didn’t quite feel either were me. I’d always struggled with the trans identity, even though I knew what I was supposed to be. I thought the only option was to be trans.

So you contemplated that you could’ve been trans?

Yeah, definitely. Many times in my 20s I questioned my gender identity. I was too afraid to fully consider it. I had a lot of internalized transphobia. I really struggled. A few times a year it’d consume me and pull me under. Before the conversation with Chaz, I remember calling my best friend Vanity. I thought I was calling to come out as trans. I thought I was finally ready to admit it, and needed that friend who’d listen and not judge. I got to the end of the conversation and thought ‘oh. I don’t think I am trans. I really like being a boy, I really like being a girl.’ And at that time, I was still afraid of the middle.

When Chaz and I discussed gender-fluid, it was weird to know that was what I’d always been, but because I never had a word for it, I always struggled with it. I was always trying to be more masculine than I was. I mean, I failed miserably! But I always was trying to be a man, especially in the bedroom with other guys when I was presenting as Shane.

It’s interesting because now I’m just me. I’m not afraid of the words ‘man’ or ‘woman’ or the middle ground anymore.

When we last spoke you were dating someone you met at Tom and Dustin’s New Year’s Eve party…

Yes. We’re no longer dating. But I can tell you, London is the city for dating. Sydney, nah, LA, nah. But I’ve dated a bunch of people in London in ways that I never have before. I love it. I went on a date with an opposite sex couple – a man and a woman – which was fun. I met them on an app, Field, for couples seeking a third. I met my ex-boyfriend on that. We were both singles seeking whatever! That app is handy, because people are more open when it comes to gender and sexuality. For a lot of ‘capital G’ gays, the idea of having a boyfriend who does drag or is feminine can be a bit confronting still. It’s getting better. For a lot of pan and bi guys, they’re attracted to masculinity and femininity.

Are you excited about Drag Race UK?

Drag Race in the US is wonderful but after 11 seasons and however many All Stars, it feels… I’m excited for the cultural injection. And to see the UK interpretation of drag. The girls are so influenced. The girls on season 11 started doing drag long after Drag Race began. Drag Race is huge and popular in the UK, but it’s still a fresh approach to drag. Drag as a culture needs new blood. The UK version is going to be so important for stopping drag becoming stale or predictable. It’s do different here. It can be polished, but some of the most entertaining drag I’ve seen has been roughly presented; the looks, the commentary, the politics.

Do you keep up with the US show?

I have every single season up until this one. I don’t know why. I watched episode three and just stopped watching. I didn’t feel as compelled. It just hasn’t taken me, and I’m a super fan of the show. I’m not one of those jaded people. I genuinely love it. Once my Underbelly show’s up and running I’ll have more time. But I do love Nina West. I knew her before and she is fabulous.”

Courtney’s interview with Gay Star News - May 13, 2019

#ca interview #13.05.19 #courtney act #rupaul's drag race #rpdr

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