How Wendy Carlos transformed electronic music while refusing to be anything but herself.

Wendy Carlos is a badass. Full stop. She is one of the most influential architects of modern sound. Her groundbreaking work with the Moog synthesizer helped redefine how electronic instruments could be used in popular music, classical interpretation, and film scoring, reshaping the sonic language of the late twentieth century. From her landmark 1968 album Switched-On Bach to her unforgettable scores for A Clockwork Orange, The Shining, and Tron, Carlos was at the forefront of musical innovation. At the same time her career was ascending, Carlos was also navigating her life as a transgender woman in an era that offered little safety, privacy, or understanding, making her achievements all the more remarkable.

Today, I’m joined in the studio by Lucas Grindley — a composer of electronic orchestral music and film scores, former Editor-in-Chief of The Advocate, and two-time LGBTQ+ Journalist of the Year — to explore Carlos’ legacy, her artistry, and the lasting impact she’s had on how we hear music today. We’ll also hear two original songs composed and arranged by Lucas.

You can hear Lucas' original music on SoundCloud, TikTok, and Youtube.

Lucas is new to Substack so be sure to give him a follow!

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It’s been 10 years sine we lost David Bowie and I wanted to curate a set that he might be proud of hearing from the beyond. Bowie never belonged to one moment, one genre, or one version of himself, and that’s partly why his music continues to feel so alive. On what would have been his birthday, I wanted to celebrate his unending well of creativity with a set of remixes and deep cuts.

This set is different than our regular format of mixing history with music. This is an entirely curated playlist of music without much interruption.

Consider this an invitation to drift and to dance. Happy Heavenly Birthday Bowie.

Let me know what you think in the comments!

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How one nightclub gave shelter to rebels and helped a generation of artists find their chosen family.

If I could go back in time to any place during any era of time, I would land myself at the doors of Max’s Kansas City in 1968. Anyone who knows me would fully understand my obsession for New York City’s music scene and specifically my love for the cultural significance of this venue. This was THE place to be if you wanted to be an artist or musician. So many legends began as nobodies here - Lou Reed, Patti Smith, the New York Dolls, Debbie Harry, the list goes on.

On this week’s episode, I dive into the history of Max’s Kansas City with Yvonne Sewall, who was there from the beginning. We talk about her book High on Rebellion, her life inside Max’s, her nonprofit that’s keeping the spirit of Max’s alive through a new generation of artists, and what she has planned for the club’s 60th anniversary.

Music in this episode includes songs from the Velvet Underground, Iggy Pop, Suicide, Blondie, the Ramones, Patti Smith, and many more.

Learn more about the Max’s Kansas City Project HERE.

Purchase High on Rebellion: Inside the Underground at Max’s Kansas City

Hard Cover Edition HERE or E-Book HERE

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House music’s queer foundations, its worldwide takeover, and the legacy still echoing through today’s biggest artists.”

House music wasn’t born in studios or corporate boardrooms…it was built in the dark, crowded rooms where Black, queer, and trans people went to breathe. Born in Chicago at the famed Warehouse, the the dancefloor became a place where survival and joy could coexist. In this week’s episode of Songs That Saved Your Life, I’m tracing how those early nights at the Warehouse and the Paradise Garage grew into a global sound that still pulses through pop music today.

From Frankie Knuckles to the ballrooms that shaped voguing, from Daft Punk’s shimmering French Touch to Beyoncé’s Renaissance, House remains one of the most powerful legacies of queer creativity. This episode is a love letter to the people who created a home in the music long before the world was ready to recognize them.

We’ll hear music from Frankie Knuckles, Masters at Work, Phuture, Crystal Waters, Robin S., Stardust, Daft Punk, Madonna, and many more.

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And since House music was born from Disco, you may also want to listen to my episode on the queer roots of Disco music here.

You know what’s great about music? It’s subjective and, like all art, is in the eye (or ear) of the beholder. For several years now, some of my music writer pals and I have compiled our list of year-end faves. Our taste in music doesn’t overlap much, which always makes for an eclectic mix.

We’ll be compiling our favorites from 2025 soon but, in the meantime, we thought it might be fun to reflect on the first half of a decade that began with a life-altering pandemic.

Is this a “Best Of” List? Not exactly. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. It’s more of tip of the cap to the music that helped us survive the past four years of this wacky, diabolical world we live in.

Meet the Cohort:

Kevin Alexander - Author of On Repeat Records, making music personal and personable again.

Kevin’s List:

• Maggie Rogers — Don’t Forget Me (2024)

• Wussy — Cincinnati, Ohio (2024)

• Sweeping Promises — Good Living Is Coming For You (2023)

• Chemical Brothers — For That Beautiful Feeling (2023)

• New Pornographers — Continue as Guest (2023)

• Spoon — Lucifer on the Sofa (2022)

• Nada Surf — Moon Mirror (2024)

• Destroyer — Have We Met (2020)

• Alvvays — Blue Rev (2022)

• Working Men’s Club — S/T (2020)

Sam Colt—Recovering copywriter and author of This Is A Newsletter!—a consistently hilarious, biting chronicle of modern life and its indignities.

Sam’s List:

• Alfredo — Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist (2020)

• Promises — Floating Points, Pharaoh Sanders & the London Symphony Orchestra (2021)

• Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You — Big Thief (2022)

• Blue Rev — Alvvays (2022)

• Cave World — Viagra Boys (2022)

• SCARING THE HOES — Danny Brown & JPEGMAFIA (2023)

• 3D Country — Geese (2023)

• “NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD” — Godspeed You! Black Emperor (2024)

• No Name — Jack White (2024)

• Imaginal Disk — Magdalena Bay (2024)

Steve Goldberg—Writes Earworms and Songloops, weaving personal essays with the songs that lodge themselves in your brain.

Steve’s Picks:

• Bonny Light Horseman — Bonny Light Horseman (2020)

• Fantastic Negrito — Have You Lost Your Mind Yet? (2020)

• Silk Sonic — An Evening with Silk Sonic (2021)

• Arooj Aftab — Vulture Prince (2021)

• Sloan — Steady (2022)

• Weyes Blood — And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow (2022)

• Corey Hanson — Western Cum (2023)

• King Gizzard — Petrodragonic Apocalypse (2023)

• Cowboy Sadness — Selected Jambient Works Vol. 1 (2024)

• Storefront Church — Ink and Oil (2024)

My List:

• Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia (2020)

• Run the Jewels - RTJ4 (2020)

• Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg (2021)

• St. Vincent - Pay Your Way in Pain (2021)

• Cimafunk - El Alimento (2021)

• Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cool It Down (2022)

• Beyonce - Renaissance (2022)

• Janelle Monáe - Age of Pleasure (2023)

• Brittany Howard - What Now (2024)

• Doechii - Alligator Bites Never Heal (2024)

2020:

Ah yes, the year we all faced our collective mortality and learned how to make sourdough. Admittedly, the pandemic had me operating in two modes and two modes only: Fight or Dance. This is where my picks of Run the Jewels and Dua Lipa bubbled to the top like the rising yeast of that new bread I was attempting. Rolling Stone may have picked Taylor Swift’s Folklore as the best offering of the year, but if time, space, and normal social graces are now irrelevant and I’m stuck inside four walls until the end of the world takes me, I’d rather gas myself up for an ass whoopin’ or at least dance my way towards the apocalypse.

2021:

Girl, we’re still in lockdown mode and arguing with family members about why COVID vaccines aren’t a government hoax so yeah, St. Vincent’s Pay Your Way in Pain felt like an apt title for the moment. Plus, it’s a banger album that references a few of my favorite icons like Prince, Bowie, and Warhol’s Superstars. The track “Candy Darling” is still on constant rotation on my radio show three years after this album’s release. And speaking of Warhol’s gang, I also fell in love with Dry Cleaning’s debut album because lead singer Florence Shaw’s deadpan vocal delivery sounds like Lou Reed if he actually had a sense of humor. Cimafunk’s El Alimento was also a pick for nostalgia’s sake because he partnered with P-Funk Grandaddy George Clinton and Lupe Fiasco on this album, making it a funky salve for whatever bullshit 2021 was on.

2022:

If I could only pick one album from 2022 to listen to forever, it would be Beyonce’s Renaissance. Admittedly, I’m not an obsessive Bey fan but I joined the hive after she released Lemonade in 2016. And as a queer music history writer, Renaissance felt like a master class in honoring the ancestors. Written as a love letter to her late uncle Johnny and to her queer fans, Beyonce reminded those who needed to hear it that House music was born in Black, queer spaces. I also chose the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Cool It Down because I was just so thrilled that they were back together after a nine year hiatus and the track “Spitting Off the Edge of the World” alone was worth the wait.

2023:

If I’m being honest, my love for Chappell Roan’s The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess took some time to marinate. I had a real “what’s the big deal” moment when I was first introduced to the album in 2023. Two years later, I’d throat-punch anyone who speaks ill of her in my presence. Some people are Swifties. I am a lesbian. And Chappell Roan can get it. The album I did not half-step on was Age of Pleasure by Janelle Monáe. Her 2018 album Dirty Computer is one of my favorite albums of all-time but this list can’t go back that far and Age of Pleasure is an incredible follow up for an artist finally standing ten toes down and embracing her fluid gender identity and sexuality. This is what it sounds like when someone stands in their truth and speaks their joy and I was here for every second of that journey.

2024:

I realize my bias is showing as my favorite album picks continue along the queer spectrum but don’t let that distract from the fact that Brittany Howard and Doechii had the best albums of 2024 outside of Kendrick Lamar’s massive contribution. We already know about Kendrick so I’m using this moment to fight for Brittany and Doechii. Brittany Howard seems to strike gold every time she opens her mouth whether she’s with Alabama Shakes or doing her own thing and I just don’t see how she’s going to top the sonic beauty of What Now. And Doechii is only the third female artist in history to win a GRAMMY for Best Rap Album next to Lauryn Hill and Cardi B. That is some great company and Doechii’s only getting started as an artist.

What were your soul saving albums from the first half of the decade? I am standing by, waiting to add fresh picks to my playlists.

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Marking Cyndi Lauper’s Rock Hall induction and her decades of queer advocacy.

One of my favorite queer allies was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame this year so it felt like the right time to celebrate Cyndi Lauper on Songs That Saved Your Life Radio. her music has been a lifeline for misfits, queer kids, and anyone who’s ever felt unseen. This episode looks at how she turned her art into action, how she fought for LGBTQ+ lives, and how her spirit still echoes through the artists she inspired. It’s gonna be a bop y’all - a SHE BOP.

Music in this episode includes songs by Prince, Madonna, Whitney Houston, Chappell Roan, Santigold, Patsy Cline, Wanda Jackson, Janet Jackson, Robyn, and many more.

How a teenage misfit helped shape punk, invented post-punk, and carved out a new space for queerness in rock.

Just in time for the full moon last night, we’re digging into the legacy of Siouxsie Sioux who helped define punk’s first wave and inspired what came after it. From hanging out at early Sex Pistols gigs to inventing her own sound with the Banshees, Siouxsie pushed post-punk into new, darker, weirder places. We trace her story from the gritty queer bars of London to her global legacy. Siouxsie doesn’t get enough credit for just how many bands cite her as a direct influence. On this episode, I attempt to give credit where it’s due because there’s no doubt that post-punk, New Wave, and Goth wouldn’t be the same without her.

This episode contains some of my favorite music from some of my favorite bands like The Smiths, Joy Division, Depeche Mode, Cocteau Twins, The Cure, Radiohead, TV on the Radio, and many more. I hope you enjoy!

What a treat it was to be joined by Madeleine Peyroux and Gail Ann Dorsey today for a live performance in the Radio Kingston studios. MAD and GAD (as I lovingly call them) came by to promote an upcoming benefit concert for the Ulster Immigrant Defense Network.

Peyroux, who began her career busking in Paris as a teenager and broke through with her 1996 debut Dreamland and the gold-selling Careless Love, sang a gorgeous Bessie Smith cover and Dorsey, celebrated for her decade on bass with David Bowie and a solo career that’s taken her from Tears for Fears to The National, shared an original song that will be appearing on her forthcoming album.

In addition to the live performance, music in this episode includes songs by Joan Osborne, Rebecca Martin, David Baerwald, Matt Munisteri, Roberta Flack, Billie Holiday, Ani DiFranco, and more.

For those local to the Hudson Valley, the Estamos Contigo: Friends & Neighbors Concert will be held on Saturday, September 20th at The Old Dutch Church in Kingston at 7pm. All proceeds from the concert will benefit the Ulster Immigrant Defense Network. The evening will also include singer/songwriters Joan Osborne, David Baerwald, Clare & Olivier Manchon, Larry Grenadier, Rebecca Martin, and Matt Munisteri.

Tickets can be purchased here for the event.

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This week on Songs That Saved Your Life, I’m honored to share a conversation with Janis Ian—a songwriter whose courage has matched her extraordinary talent for more than six decades.

At just 14 years old, Ian wrote “Society’s Child,” a ballad about an interracial romance and American racism that radio stations refused to play. Her father, a civil-rights activist, was already under FBI surveillance, and the backlash against the song only intensified that scrutiny. From an early age, Ian became a voice for social justice.

A decade later, she gave us “At Seventeen.” The song earned a Grammy and became a refuge for outsiders everywhere, especially queer listeners who heard themselves in every line.

Ian’s refusal to stay silent never wavered. In the early 1990s, during the height of the AIDS crisis, she came out publicly as gay and released Breaking Silence, a landmark album that confronted trauma, prejudice, and love with unflinching clarity.

In our interview, Ian reflects on her legacy of speaking truth to power. We also talk about the new documentary Janis Ian: Breaking Silence

Music in this episode includes songs by Billie Holiday, Odetta, Lead Belly, Nina Simone, Brandi Carslile, and Janis Ian’s own unforgettable songs.

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Disco’s queer roots, its rise, and the ‘Disco Sucks’ backlash that tried to silence it.

Before the mirror ball became a symbol of Saturday night excess, disco was the heartbeat of queer New York. Born in underground parties curated by visionary DJs like David Mancuso, Larry Levan, and Nicky Siano, disco offered sanctuary and liberation for those pushed to society’s margins. In this week’s episode of Songs That Saved Your Life, I explore disco’s queer roots, its explosive rise into the mainstream, and the backlash that followed in the form of the “Disco Sucks” movement. It’s a story of joy, resistance, and the erasure and survival of queer culture in popular music.

Music in this episode includes songs from Manu Dibango, Eddie Kendricks, Disco Tex and the Sex-o-lettes, Donna Summer, Sylvester, Chic, Labelle, and more.

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If you’re interested in a deeper dive, here are two articles:

AND

Exploring Hip Hop’s historical tensions with queerness and the legacy of representation from Queen Latifah to Doechii.

Hip Hop celebrated its 52nd birthday on August 11th. This week on Songs That Saved Your Life, we’re diving into the history of Hip Hop—its origins, its evolution, and its complicated relationship to queerness. I invited my Radio Kingston colleagues, Micah and Lotus, the brilliant hosts of Hip Hop 101, to join me for this conversation. Together, we trace the Golden Era of Hip Hop, share some of our favorite tracks, and reflect on the culture’s ongoing tension between celebration and exclusion. We also highlight the trailblazing role of Queen Latifah, who helped pave the way for today’s openly queer artists like Doechii and Lil Nas X.

Music in this episode includes tracks from Fatback Band, Queen Latifah, MC Lyte, Kurtis Blow, De La Soul, Rapsody, Doechii and more.

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If you’re interested in reading more about Queen Latifah’s impact as a queer icon…

Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Bronski Beat are too often reduced to singles — but their stories are part of queer music history.

This week on Songs That Saved Your Life, we revisit the revolutionary sounds of Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Bronski Beat, two bands often dismissed as ‘80s one-hit wonders, but whose music told stories of queer resistance, visibility, and survival. At the height of the AIDS crisis, at a time when mainstream pop rarely acknowledged LGBTQ+ lives, these artists brought unapologetic sexuality to the charts. From the hedonistic defiance of “Relax” to the aching vulnerability of “Smalltown Boy,” this episode explores how these songs offered lifelines to queer listeners and helped carve out space for self-expression in a hostile cultural climate.

Did you know that the music video for “Relax” was banned by the BBC for being too gay? And that because of Bronski Beat lead singer Jimmy Somerville’s activism, he was routinely targeted by the media? Despite the oppressive governments who tried to erase queerness from the mainstream, Frankie’s Welcome to the Pleasuredome and Bronski’s Age of Consent became beacons of hope for listeners.

Tune in as we dive deeper than the hits to uncover the radical legacy these bands left behind. Music in this episode includes songs by Siouxsie and the Banshees, Soft Cell, Culture Club, Eurythmics, Dead or Alive, and more.

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And of you’re interested in reading my previous articles about both bands……..

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When Pop Was Political, Madonna Led the Way.

We’re celebrating Madonna’s birthday a little early with a radio episode dedicated to her fearless legacy as an LGBTQ+ icon. I played tracks from her new Veronica Electronica remix album and traced her influence through artists like The Pretenders, Blondie, George Michael, Chappell Roan, Lady Gaga, and more.

I also discussed the significance of her 1992 album Erotica. Madonna's entire catalog is key to queer history but I would argue that Erotica and her Sex book might be the most central to the queer struggle and as a testament to Madonna's activism.

Get into the groove and celebrate the Material Girl’s 67th birthday with me on Songs That Saved Your Life radio!

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Billie Joe Armstrong brought queer identity to MTV and suburban bedrooms, channeling the rebellious energy of punk’s earliest queer pioneers.

If you tuned in last week, you might remember that we covered the history of punk rock and its very queer beginnings. It felt like an appropriate through line to turn our attention to one of the most famous bands on the planet. Green Day’s 1994 album Dookie was named Rolling Stone’s “Best Alternative Album” of 1994 and was cited by Fuse as the most important pop-punk album of all time. Lead singer, Billie Joe Armstrong has always been an out and proud bisexual and wrote about it in songs like "Coming Clean" and "King For a Day." Today, we'll explore Green Day’s place in history not only as rock icons but also queer icons.

Music in this episode includes songs from The Ramones, Stiff Little Fingers, Hüsker Dü, The Replacements, The Jam, Pansy Division, Rancid, and more.

Maybe Green Day isn’t for you, Elon.

The world’s richest man led the vitriol on social media after Green Day’s appearance on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, just before the ball dropped on 2023. People who’d never bothered to listen to the band’s lyrics throughout their 30-year career finally took notice as they performed the 2004 hit, “American Idiot.” Singer Billie Joe Armstrong altered the lyrics from the original line, “I’m not a part of a redneck agenda” to “I’m not a part of the MAGA agenda.” MAGA enthusiasts including Elon Musk came to the surprising realization that Green Day didn’t play for their team.

Inserting politics into the music wasn’t some 2024 “new year, new me” resolution for Green Day. It wasn’t even the first time they’d targeted Trump. Armstrong led a chant during their 2016 American Music Awards performance: “No Trump, no KKK, no fascist U.S.A.” If Musk had listened more closely to the original lyrics to “American Idiot,” he’d know that the “machine” Green Day rages against has always been the same. In fact, Musk might recognize it in the mirror — corporate greed, fascist leadership, and bigotry against the queer community.

Well maybe I’m the faggot America

I’m not a part of a redneck agenda.

Green Day’s explosion from California’s punk scene to mainstream superstardom happened almost exactly 30 years ago with the release of their breakout 1994 album, Dookie. They picked up where Nirvana left off after the death of Kurt Cobain that same year. Like Nirvana, Green Day’s music championed the bored, anxiety-riddled teen trapped by suburbia. Another similarity: Green Day's aggro image might’ve deceived fans who didn’t listen carefully to their lyrics. Plus, Cobain and Armstrong both spoke publicly about their bisexuality and wrote songs from that experience. "Talking about his sexuality, Kurt was doing something good," Armstrong told The Advocate in 1995. “People think you have to be so macho. People get attacked just because someone insinuates something about their sexuality. I think that's gruesome."

Green Day’s first single from Dookie, “Longview,” introduces Armstrong as an unmotivated, un-showered loser drowning in his own apathy.

Call me pathetic, call me what you will

My mother says to get a job

But she don't like the one she's got

When masturbation's lost its fun, you're fuckin' lazy

It’s their second single, “Basket Case,” when we learn that the reason partly for Armstrong’s suffering is his confusion about his sexuality. In therapy, a psychologist suggests getting laid might break his dour mood. So he goes in search of a prostitute.

I went to a whore

He said my life's a bore

So quit my whining 'cause it's bringing her down

Armstrong purposefully uses both “he” and “she” pronouns to nod to his bisexuality. He solicited both a man and a woman — and was insulted by both.

The hints get more overt in “Coming Clean.”

I finally figured out myself for the first time

Now mom and dad will never understand

What’s happening to me.

In the 1995 interview with The Advocate, Armstrong confirms that “Coming Clean” is a song about realizing as a teen that he’s bisexual. Armstrong would again tackle the theme of heteronormative limitations in the band’s 1997 album, Nimrod. “King For a Day” celebrates queerness and gender expression as an act of defiance.

My daddy threw me in therapy

He thinks I'm not a real man

Who put the drag in the drag queen?

Don't knock it until you've tried it

Sugar and spice and everything nice wasn't made for only girls

GI Joe in panty hose

Is making room for the one and only

King for a day, princess by dawn

King for a day in a leather thong

King for a day, princess by dawn

Just wait 'til all the guys get a load of me

If the songs weren’t a clear enough message about the type of audience Green Day courted, the band also made a powerful statement by inviting out queer punk group Pansy Division as the opening act on their first tour. Armstrong told OUT magazine that bigots weren’t welcome at his shows. “When our crowds were getting more mainstream, we didn’t want to represent the typical Mohawk stereotype. I got letters from teenagers saying, after seeing Pansy Division, they had the courage to come out. I saw certain idiots in the crowd yelling ‘faggots’ or throwing shit but I also saw people dancing and having a good time. Homophobia has no place in the punk scene or the mainstream. I think we share that belief with Pansy Division. Punk rock has been rather queer since the beginning.”

Green Day turned their spotlight to politics with the release of 2004’s American Idiot. Dismayed by the events surrounding 9/11 and the Iraq War, Armstrong mocked the Bush presidency and America’s growing culture wars. Guitar World magazine summed up the album’s themes: “American Idiot draws a casual connection between contemporary social dysfunction and the Bush ascendancy.” The band was often booed while doing shows in conservative states including Tennessee and Texas. During performances, Armstrong would chant, “Fuck George W. Bush.” He admitted in a 2005 interview with Rolling Stone that they did “everything to piss people off,” including wearing masks onstage that resembled Bush. Despite angering conservatives, American Idiot became Green Day’s first No. 1 album in the United States, staying on the charts over 100 weeks.

Green Day has always been a progressive band, so it’s no surprise to anyone paying attention that they wouldn’t be fans of former president Donald Trump. The “MAGA Agenda” includes demagoguing immigrants, banning gender-affirming care, and banning simple things like “diversity, equity, and inclusion.” When TMZ asked for Armstrong’s response to the backlash over changing the lyrics to “American Idiot,” he simply responded by blowing them a kiss. The next day, Green Day released their queerest music video to date. In the video for “Bobby Sox,” Armstrong hosts the greatest backyard concert of all time with a diverse guest list from all walks of life dancing and hugging and having a great fucking time together. Armstrong screams joyfully, “Do you wanna be my girlfriend? Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” This is the “machine” that, according to Elon Musk, Green Day is “milquetoastedly raging for.”

Ten bucks says Musk’s trans daughter just went out and bought a Green Day T-shirt.

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Before it had a name, punk was queer. It was inspired by queer people and queer spaces. On today’s episode, we’re discussing the queer artists, influencers, and spaces that influenced the birth of punk rock. From Andy Warhol to music impresario Danny Fields and filmmaker Derek Jarman, punk may never have materialized without them. We’ll also talk about Malcolm McLaren and his appropriation of queer culture to sell punk to the masses.

Music in this episode includes songs from The Velvet Underground, The New York Dolls, Jayne County, The Ramones, Suicide, MC5, The Stooges, Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Slits, and many more.

In the mainstream version of punk history, the story often begins in 1976 when the Ramones released their debut album in New York and the Sex Pistols snarled their way across London. But that telling flattens the radical, messy, queer undercurrents that were already shaping the scene long before it had a name.

Punk didn't emerge out of nowhere. It grew sideways out of gay bars, gender-bending drag performance, Warhol’s Factory, and the glammed and glittery performers who saw rebellion as something you wear, scream, and live. Punk inherited its attitude and much of its visual aesthetic from queerness. The lineage from proto-punk bands like the Velvet Underground, the Stooges, MC5, the New York Dolls, and Patti Smith to punk bands like the Ramones and the Sex Pistols can all be traced back to three queer men: Andy Warhol, Danny Fields, and Derek Jarman.

Andy Warhol’s Queer Factory

Before punk had a sound, it had an aesthetic, and much of it came from Andy Warhol’s famed art studio simply called Factory, a metallic queer utopia where gender norms and artistic boundaries were irrelevant. In addition to his pop art revolution, Warhol managed the Velvet Underground, who are often considered the earliest prototype for punk. Queer lead singer Lou Reed’s associations with Warhol and trans and genderfluid icons like Candy Darling, Jackie Curtis, and Holly Woodlawn created an early fusion of experimental rock and gender nonconformity.

At the beginning of 1968, Warhol relocated his Factory from 47th Street in Manhattan to Union Square. The move meant that he and his queer troop of Superstars found a new social haunt right across the square, at Max’s Kansas City. Owner Mickey Ruskin had a soft spot for artists and traded free bar and food tabs in exchange for art. It became a popular watering hole for luminaries like Rauschenberg, de Kooning, and many others. Warhol and his entourage took up residence in Max’s back room, and it became New York’s cultural epicenter where the beginnings of punk music gestated. In the book High on Rebellion, Iggy Pop explains the importance of Max’s Kansas City as a cultural phenomenon. “For me, there were two Max’s. The first Max’s was the back room, behavioral New York, gay intellectual performance art. And then there was the other Max’s which became the rock & roll venue. The old Max’s was for me.”

If punk’s grandparents on its father’s side were the Velvet Underground, then on the mother’s side were another band, the New York Dolls. They emerged in 1972 from the apex of connections in Warhol’s world: Max’s Kansas City and the Theatre of the Ridiculous, which brought elements of queer performance to experimental theater. The theatre was famous for casting drag queens and trans actors. “I used to work for this guy in St. Mark’s, Wart Wilson, who had a store in St Marks Place,” said future New York Dolls lead singer David Johansen in the book Secret Public. “He had a basement where he had a workshop and I noticed these racks of costumes. They were for The Theatre of the Ridiculous.” Johansen immediately got a job as a production assistant. “They definitely influenced me. I got a lot from them and Little Richard.” Johansen also had a job as a busboy at Max’s, and it’s out of the combination of these experiences that he molded the gender-bending, cross-dressing, outrageous band that became the New York Dolls.

Leee Black Childers photographed the New York Dolls for Melody Maker, commenting, “They had taken the whole out of the trash look of Jackie Curtis and Holly Woodlawn and somehow made it cute.”

Queer and trans performers weren’t just muses, they were icons of rebellion. They were living embodiments of the “gender as performance” ethos that punk would later weaponize. The Velvet Underground and the New York Dolls didn’t just borrow the look, they carried forward the sexual ambiguity, theatricality, and outsider energy that made early glam rock such fertile queer ground. It’s no accident that when future Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren came to New York in the early ’70s, he tried to manage the Dolls. He later folded their aesthetic into the DNA of the Sex Pistols. More on that in a minute.

Danny Fields: The Queer Connector Behind the Chaos

If punk rock has a godfather, it might just be Danny Fields. He signed or managed some of the most formidable names in punk’s history—the Stooges, MC5, and the Ramones.

Beginning his career as a journalist at the teen fan magazine Datebook, Fields first gained notoriety as the person responsible for spotlighting John Lennon’s infamous “we’re more popular than Jesus” quote in 1966, prompting southern Christians in the U.S. to burn their Beatles records. Around the same time, Fields began frequenting Max’s Kansas City. It was there that he developed connections to Warhol’s social circle. Max’s didn’t have live music until 1969. And it was Fields who brought in the first bands. By then, he was a publicist at Elektra Records. He brought in Alice Cooper, the Stooges, and the Velvet Underground. “He seemed to be at the pulse of the underground,” remarked Alice Cooper in the documentary Danny Says, which chronicles Fields' career. “Lou Reed, Iggy, the whole Warhol gang. He was sort of the mayor of New York City.”

In 1975, Fields discovered the Ramones at CBGB and helped get them signed to Sire Records. It was Fields' own mother who paid for the Ramones' first proper drum kit. As the band's co-manager, with Linda Stein, Fields brought the Ramones to London in 1976, which inspired the fledgling punk movement and bands like the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and the Damned.

According to Danny Says, Fields claims to have also connected Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe to the music scene via the back room of Max’s Kansas City. “Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe knew about Max’s but they were terrified. It seemed so impenetrable, especially the back room. Everyone was so cool. We’d say ‘there are those cute people again. Which is a boy and which is a girl? They’re just standing there. They look like they want to meet us. At one point, I just went over to them and said ‘sit down! You’re here all the time. Why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee. It’s free.’ That was their kick off.” Fields also introduced Smith to Richard Sohl, who would eventually join her band.

Fields isn’t talked about enough, mostly because he was behind the grand curtain of some of rock & roll’s most important bands. But it was Fields who connected the dots between queer performance art, glam, and proto-punk rawness. As The New York Times once wrote, “You could make a convincing case that without Danny Fields, punk rock would not have happened.”

Derek Jarman’s Punk Dystopia on Film

Few captured punk’s queer potential as unapologetically as filmmaker Derek Jarman. His 1978 film Jubilee was described by the Bright Lights Film Journal as “Britain’s only decent punk film,” but it’s more than that. In Jubilee, Queen Elizabeth I travels forward in time to witness the bleak, crumbling state of 1970s Britain, ruled by her namesake descendant and overrun by punks, misfits, and queers. The film features cameos from trans punk icon and former Max’s Kansas City house DJ Jayne County, as well as Adam Ant, Siouxsie Sioux, and The Slits, and it includes performances that blur the line between stage and riot. Jarman, who had already directed 1976’s Sebastiane, one of the first British films to center gay sexuality and religion, was less interested in punk as a genre and more so as a political statement. To him, punk was a queer rejection of empire, patriarchy, and conformity.

The film elicited a very punk rock response from fashion designer Vivienne Westwood, who along with partner Malcolm McLaren, were at the center of punk’s infancy. Westwood and McLaren owned SEX, the London boutique that would become the standard aesthetic for England’s punk scene. On a white cotton sleeveless shirt, now housed in the V&A Collection in London, Westwood scrawled out paragraphs of vitriol toward Jarman and his criticism of punk’s apocalyptic future.

“I am punk man! And as you use the valves you give to punks as a warning, am I supposed to see old Elizabeth’s england as some state of grace? Well, I’d rather consider that all this grand stuff and looking at diamonds is something to do with a gay (which you are) boy’s love of dressing up & playing at charades. (Does he have a cock between his legs or doesn’t he? Kinda thing)”

That Jubilee sparked a public feud between Westwood and Jarman is less surprising with some context. Not only did Jubilee actor Jordan, in the role of the brazen punk protagonist Amyl Nitrate, work for Westwood at the time (Jarman met Jordan behind the counter of SEX), but historian Jim Ellis also suggests that Amyl Nitrate was Jarman’s unflattering depiction of Westwood.

Jarman would go on to direct several music videos for bands like the Sex Pistols, the Smiths, Pet Shop Boys, and Patti Smith.

Malcolm McLaren and the Appropriation of Queer Style

Many people credit the couple Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood and their boutique store SEX as the catalyst that launched punk in England. But most of McLaren’s ideas were taken from what he observed in New York. According to the documentary Nightclubbing, McLaren started the Sex Pistols after trying unsuccessfully to manage the New York Dolls. He personally checked into rehab Dolls’ guitarist Johnny Thunders, drummer Jerry Nolan and bassist Arthur Kane so he could organize a tour for them throughout the U.S. The point for McLaren was to advertise the fashions sold at SEX. Tampa was the tour’s first stop. Except the problem was Thunders and Nolan wanted to score heroin and found that somehow difficult in Florida, so they left to return to New York. With a management gig that failed before it began, McLaren went back to London with some valuable lessons. After a failed attempt to turn the New York Dolls into a walking billboard for his fetish-fashion boutique SEX, McLaren had a new plan. He fused the Dolls’ campy nihilism with the Ramones’ three-chord minimalism and the flamboyant provocations of gay liberation movements. The result? The Sex Pistols.

The Pistols were a marketing experiment—but one grounded in the rebellion of queer aesthetic. The band’s earliest fans, nicknamed the Bromley Contingent, were a group of queer kids (including Siouxsie Sioux and Billy Idol’s entourage) who frequented queer bars like Louise’s, a lesbian club that welcomed London’s first wave of punks. McLaren’s store sold shirts emblazoned with gay pornographic imagery and slogans pulled directly from gay liberation literature, like “Out of the bedroom and into the streets.”

When Pistols guitarist Steve Jones wore one of these shirts in public, he was arrested under an 1824 vagrancy law. “They got me purely on the gay imagery, thinking I was a rent boy. They have no conception of fashion,” Jones says in the book Secret Public.

In a 2002 interview, McLaren admitted that his best ideas were borrowed from the queer scene in New York. “I was very happy to bring a piece of New York back. I didn't see the Sex Pistols as anything more than a vehicle, at that time, to basically push the boat out from the shop, it was just a wonderful little idea that I cared about because I thought, wow, to try and make an anti-music statement. What I'd seen, what I'd been swept off my own feet from, with the New York Dolls, what I'd discovered in the whole S&M scene, this idea that, yeah, you could get kids to really experiment with their sexuality, the look of all that, the black leather, the studs, the tit-clamps, the dog-collars, the whole S&M process and style that was harbouring around Christopher Street at the time, the New York Dolls were coupling up with pearl necklaces and little girls' sweaters... I kind of liked all the trashiness of that and I was very taken with it.”

The early punk scenes in both New York and the UK were deeply rooted in queer spaces. Before the genre hardened into something marketable, punk bands played in gay clubs like Mother’s near the Chelsea Hotel in Manhattan where the Ramones, Blondie, and Suicide performed. In London, it was Louise’s and in the North it was The Ranch, a tiny Manchester gay bar that gave a home to the Buzzcocks and others. As Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks remembered in the book Secret Public, “Gay bars were the places you could go and be outlandish with your dress and not get beaten up.” Siouxsie Sioux called early punk a “club for misfits - anyone who didn’t conform to any mass Mecca… male gays, female gays, bisexuals, nonsexuals, everything. No one was criticized for their sexual preferences.”

And yet, by 1977, the music industry tried to shove punk into a more heteronormative frame. Gay people were pushed toward disco; rock was rebranded as straight. Punk's queerness, its origin point, was brushed aside for marketability. The new punk attitude oscillated between outright hostility and the denial of its gay beginnings.

The early years of punk were not just accidentally queer. They were built by queer people—artists, managers, designers, filmmakers, and fans who turned marginalization into fuel. It’s time to remember that before punk was loud, it was queer.

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If you’ve learned something from this publication, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. And stay tuned for Jami’s radio episode on this same topic (but including all of the amazing music!) which will be available on Thursday. Thanks for reading and supporting my work.

If you want to dive deeper into some of the source material I used when researching this article, check out the books Secret Public and High on Rebellion and the documentaries Danny Says and Nightclubbing.

What started as a catcall became a revolution. Debbie Harry transformed Blondie — and rock & roll — on her own terms.

We're celebrating a birthday as we turn the spotlight on bisexual icon - Debbie Harry of Blondie who turned 80 years young this week.

Debbie Harry is known for her devastatingly cool style and catchy hooks. She helped define the sound of New York’s downtown scene in the late '70s. From the seedy stages of Max’s Kansas City to global superstardom, Harry fused punk, disco, reggae, and hip-hop with a swagger that's been emulated by countless artists who followed in her wake.

In a music industry that still tries to box women in, Debbie Harry blew the box wide open. She sang about desire on her own terms and she carved out space for the weirdos, the outsiders, and the lovers of all genders.

Today, we’ll celebrate her legacy — not just as a front woman, but as a queer icon — playing songs that shaped her, songs she shaped, and music by the artists who stand on her shoulders.

Music in this episode includes songs from Screamin Jay Hawkins, Velvet Underground, Patti Smith, Grandmaster Flash, Madonna, Beth Ditto, Sia and more.

When aggression became an albatross, Pete Townshend found his feminine side.

Today we're celebrating rock & roll legend Pete Townshend of the Who. Townshend, who was the guitarist and primary songwriter for the band practically invented the macho guitar rock god persona. The power chords, the power stance, the guitar smashing — Pete Townshend started all of that.

Considering how much his life has been dissected in rock history, Townshend is rarely looked at as a bisexual icon. That's because he didn’t come out until later in his career and waffled about his sexuality for years before that. But, we don’t have to dig too deep into his catalog (and interviews) to reveal that his destructive behavior and need to rebel was, in part, because of a yearning to buck the toxic masculinity he came to symbolize. Songs like "Tattoo," and "I'm a Boy," both confront the pressures to conform to hyper-masculine standards of manhood and the song "Rough Boys" refers to his bisexuality. Today, we're going to dissect all of those songs and Townshend's coming out story.

Music in today's episode includes songs from Elton John, Jimi Hendrix, Howlin' Wolf, Bo Diddley, The Rolling Stones, Pearl Jam, The White Stripes, and more.

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Nicknamed the “Voice of Romance,” Johnny Mathis Was Always Referring to Queer Love.

When after a nearly 70-year career, Johnny Mathis took a final curtain call this past weekend, musical luminaries paid tribute in recorded messages.

“You might be responsible for a lot of little children in this world,” joked Barry Manilow, the out star who said Mathis’ music was playing during his first make-out session growing up in Brooklyn. “Really, screw George Washington; you are the father of our country, Johnny.”

Mathis’ voice is synonymous with romance. From the late 1950s onward, Johnny Mathis’ smooth tenor and timeless ballads like “Chances Are” and “Misty” became the soundtrack of countless love stories. But behind the lush orchestration and chart-topping success lies a quieter, more radical legacy. Mathis was among the first globally beloved pop stars to come out—and he did so as a Black and Native American man in an era that was hostile not just to queerness, but to intersectional identity itself.

Born in 1935 in Gilmer, Texas, and raised in San Francisco, Mathis was the fourth of seven children in a working-class mixed race family. Being Black and Native American in Jim Crow America came with a constant awareness of scrutiny, which undoubtedly shaped Mathis’ careful public image.

By the late 1950s, Mathis had become a household name. His 1958 compilation Johnny’s Greatest Hits spent nearly 10 years on the Billboard charts, a record unbroken for decades. His presence on TV variety shows and movie soundtracks marked him as a rare figure—a young, non-white man allowed to sing romantic ballads to mainstream (and largely white) audiences.

In a 2016 interview with Billboard, Mathis reflected on his early career, acknowledging the challenges he faced as a Black artist in a predominantly white industry. “I was just trying to be accepted, to be heard,” he said. “The rest, I hoped, would follow.” In 1982, Mathis acknowledged in Us magazine, “Homosexuality is a way of life that I’ve grown accustomed to.” The backlash was immediate and vicious—death threats poured in, and he didn’t speak publicly about his sexuality again for nearly two decades. In a 2017 interview with CBS Sunday Morning, he explained that he had stayed silent for years out of fear: “It was not a good time to be gay,” he said.

Mathis never marched or gave political speeches. He didn’t have to. Being himself, even behind the veil of discretion, carved out space for future generations of queer artists to live more fully in the open.

Take for example one of Mathis’s most haunting recordings—1957’s “Wild Is the Wind,” performed for the opening credits of the film of the same name. The song, nominated for an Oscar, has lived many lives. The curated Mathis persona depended on acceptance by mainstream audiences, turning him romantic yet sexually elusive and bordering on milquetoast. But when he sang this tumultuous ballad, Mathis transformed into a swirling tornado of coded desire. All of a sudden he’s a vulnerable mess, drowning in his own emotions.

You kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
You’re spring to me, all things to me
Don’t you know, you’re life itself!

Like the leaf clings to the tree
Oh, my darling, cling to me
For we’re like creatures of the wind, and wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

While the lyrics aren’t overtly queer, Mathis revealed just enough of his true desire in the song’s delivery to be recognized by queer fans. “Wild is the Wind” became a calling card for other queer icons including Nina Simone, who recorded her cover in 1966, David Bowie in 1976, and George Michael in 1999, with each artist interpreting it through their own lens of longing, vulnerability, and identity. That this torch song passed through the hands of so many queer artists over the decades is no coincidence.

Nina Simone’s version:

David Bowie’s version:

George Michael’s version:

When we talk about queer liberation in music, it’s easy to focus on the loud, the defiant, the unapologetically visible. But there’s power in subtlety—in endurance. At age 89, Mathis announced his retirement after nearly seven decades on stage, with his final performance on May 18 at the Bergen Performing Arts Center in Englewood, New Jersey during the “Voice of Romance” tour.

“Things take time,” Mathis told Billboard in 2016. “People are stubborn about what they perceive to be the right thing or the wrong thing, and it takes a long time to filter this human condition. There’s a waiting period until people catch up. But if you have patience—which it takes when someone thinks differently from you—everybody always catches up. That patience is a wonderful virtue.”

Johnny Mathis’s legacy is not only in the notes he sang but in the silences he endured.

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