Pride
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JoJo Siwa is a child of the Internet. From her reality TV roots to her booming TikTok career, the two-time Emmy-nominated composer and choreographer has ridden social media to staggering new heights. Now, Jojo is opening up about how social media helped her with her coming out journey. “Just getting social media for me, it […]
Idina Menzel took the stage at WeHo Pride over the weekend, and she sat down with Billboard‘s Tetris Kelly to discuss her new music and the impact the LGBTQIA+ community has had on her career. Explore Explore See latest videos, charts and news See latest videos, charts and news Of her dance-heavy new single “Move,” […]
In February, when Kaytranada’s stage manager, Tamir Schlanger, texted him to ask if he had a vision for his Coachella performance, the artist responded with screenshots of the giant metallic head from The Wiz, the 1978 musical film featuring Michael Jackson and Diana Ross. He wondered: Could Schlanger replicate it, but with his own head?
Out of context, the images were menacing — the almighty wizard, spewing smoke and lasers — but funny, too; one featured Richard Pryor’s character, a failed politician from New Jersey named Herman Smith, peeping up sheepishly through the hole in The Wiz’s eye. All smoke and mirrors. Was the 30-year-old producer-DJ commenting on the steely facade of celebrity? Was the production meant to highlight the dichotomy between Louis Kevin Celestin, the shy kid born to Haitian immigrants who grew up in a quiet Montreal suburb, and the Grammy-winning musical wiz better known as Kaytranada?
“There really was no thought process at all, honestly,” Kaytranada admits about a month after his performance, emphasizing that the decision was purely aesthetic: He was just a fan of the movie and noticed his own physical resemblance to The Wiz’s face. “I just wanted to make something iconic,” he says.
Prior to his Coachella performance, there was little disputing Kaytranada’s accomplishments behind the scenes, where he had cultivated a reputation as a personally reserved but musically boisterous tastemaker. Over the course of two albums, 2016’s 99.9% and 2019’s Grammy-winning Bubba, he established himself as a go-to producer and deft collaborator, a singular artist able to adapt his sound to the strengths of everyone from hip-hop stars like Chance the Rapper to experimental R&B singers like Kelela while still maintaining his distinct style: a feel-good blend of dance, R&B, Afrobeats, disco and hip-hop. In the process, he also became one of the biggest gay Black artists in a genre of increasingly influential music founded by gay Black artists.
Kaytranada has jokingly called his music “Black tropical house” and “futuristic disco,” though today, speaking to Billboard, he describes it as “a new era of new jack swing.” And there is a definitive swing that distinguishes his production style, which borrows from elements of the Haitian dance genre compas, including the slightly off drum placements that imprint his otherwise sleek productions with a soulful, human touch. What has become known as the “Kaytranada sound” — a term he feels sometimes boxes him into the past — lies in the tension between the comfort of nostalgia and the excitement of the future, and has earned him collaborations with artists he aspired to be like growing up, like Pharrell Williams.
“He has a refreshing energy and approach to music,” Williams says. “And we’re all so blessed that dance music is at the center of what he does — which is, make us dance in color.”
Marni top, pants, and blazer.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Since he caught the internet’s attention with early SoundCloud remixes of Missy Elliott and TLC, along with a freewheeling, widely memed 2013 Boiler Room set filmed in Montreal that has amassed 19 million YouTube views (Top comment: “This party should have its own Wikipedia page”), Kaytranada’s vibrant dance music has captivated audiences across the world. But there was something different about the Kaytranada who DJ’d in front of a giant sculpture of his own head during a prime-time slot at Coachella’s massive Outdoor Theatre.
It wasn’t just that lasers shot out of that head as he danced playfully to hits spanning his discography or how he hyped up the crowd while premiering his remix of Beyoncé’s 2022 disco-funk banger, “CUFF IT.” Nor was it the guest appearances from Kali Uchis and Aminé the first weekend or H.E.R., Tinashe and Anderson .Paak the second — all Kaytranada collaborators whose relationships with the producer extend beyond the studio. Instead, it was the unmistakable confidence fueling his showmanship, which finally mirrored the assured and sprightly pulse of his music.
As someone who came up DJ’ing in Montreal’s experimental hip-hop scene, Kaytranada says he used to judge other DJs for “overdoing it” onstage. “I was like, ‘I want my ones and twos, and that’s it,’ ” he says. “I have the music, and I understand it. I just didn’t want to go extra.” Looking back on his reservations, “it was probably my confidence,” he admits, noting that having a stage manager like Schlanger who is able to bring his “random ideas” to life has also been a tremendous help. “I just didn’t think I deserved to go that far. But now that I have accepted myself, I’m like, ‘OK, I’ll perform with a big crowd. I’ll perform at a stadium.’ That kind of inspired me to do a larger-than-life show.”
“That show is really a visual representation of a decade of hard work,” says William Robillard Cole, Kaytranada’s manager since 2013. The Coachella set, he says, proved to be a “pivotal moment” in not only solidifying trust with the team at RCA, which Kaytranada signed to in 2018, but in establishing the artist as a “true major hard-ticket act,” noting that offers from bookers started pouring in almost immediately. “People are like, ‘Bring the head! Let’s do a tour with the head!’ ”
Robillard Cole attributes Kaytranada’s newfound confidence onstage in part to opening for The Weeknd on his 2022 After Hours Til Dawn stadium tour but also cites two pivotal things that happened long before: Kaytranada coming out publicly in 2016 and moving from Montreal to Los Angeles shortly after, where he has bounced among a series of long-term Airbnbs when he’s not on the road. “As he has gotten older and more comfortable with himself, he has really been able to develop a performance attitude,” says Robillard Cole. “Kay is an entertainer. It’s true to his soul. That dude loves to dance, he loves to entertain people, he loves to DJ, and to see the progression as a performer over the last few years, it has just been incredible to watch.”
Marni suit, Dries Van Noten top, Martine Ali jewelry. Dog Model: Angel Hernandez.
Joelle Grace Taylor
In 2023, that progression promises to continue as Kaytranada heads to Europe in June to support another leg of The Weeknd’s tour. Later this year, he plans to release his third album, though he says it’s too early to discuss particulars beyond the heavier influence of new wave and industrial. And in May, he released a breezy collaborative record with rapper Aminé called Kaytraminé (get it?) that evokes that first sip of a frozen piña colada. Aminé says they selected album guests such as Williams, Big Sean, Amaarae, Freddie Gibbs and Snoop Dogg out of “pure fandom” and connected with each organically, with texts and phone calls rather than working through A&R — a testament, he adds, to Kaytranada’s likability. (The producer says his collaborations are now 60% people who approach him and 40% him reaching out to artists.)
“His master collaborator effect to me is because he’s so nonchalant about everything,” says Aminé, who met Kaytranada through SoundCloud in 2014 when he rapped over the producer’s early breakout, “At All.” “He’ll play the craziest beat and just be like, ‘Yeah, that was pretty cool.’ It’s so funny. I feel like a lot of artists go into sessions with producers who have big names or whatever, and the producers are really f–king intimidating sometimes. They’re like, ‘This is going to be a hit record, man! This is going to get you to the top!’ Corny sh-t that doesn’t really feel like yourself, and I think Kay is really good at giving artists room and just letting them flourish.”
His last album, Bubba, which showcased artists like Estelle, Masego and GoldLink, earned Kaytranada three nominations at the 2021 Grammys, including for best new artist, and a landmark pair of wins: best dance recording for “10%,” his funk-tinged, pay-me-now collaboration with Uchis, and the other for best dance/electronic album. The latter put Kaytranada in the record books as the first Black producer and first openly gay artist to win the category since it was created in 2004.
They’re notable distinctions, considering the foundational role gay Black men have played in dance music for the last 50 years. In places like Chicago, the birthplace of house, dance music was forged out of resistance, with underground clubs functioning as spaces of relative safety and freedom from the racist and homophobic status quo. While smaller clubs, festivals and labels across America center queer Black DJs, that history is rarely acknowledged at today’s typical major dance festivals, where straight white men overwhelmingly dominate lineups. As Chicago DJ Derrick Carter put it in 2014: “Something that started as gay Black/Latino club music is now sold, shuffled and packaged as having very little to do with either.”
“Being a queer artist, being from Canada and of Haitian descent — he’s an outsider in every respect,” explains Def Jam Records CEO Tunji Balogun, who says it was a “no-brainer” to sign Kaytranada to RCA when he was vp there. “But he’s still redefining what an electronic DJ is supposed to look and sound like.”
There’s a dexterity to Kaytranada’s interdisciplinary output that offers multiple points of entry into his work. “I always tell people Kay has three parts to his career: He’s a DJ, he’s a producer and he’s an artist,” says Robillard Cole. “Obviously, that’s not something that’s super common in the music business, and to run a career that has three parts, we’ve had to put in just as much work on the producer side as the DJ side and as much work on the artist side as the producer side. It’s all about strategic partnerships and relationships.”
Those different but connected roles have singularly situated Kaytranada in the dance world. He’s the rare artist who can release a hip-hop record on Friday, then DJ Electric Daisy Carnival on Saturday, as he did in May; someone who’s big enough to headline dance festivals but still eager to work with niche and emerging artists. “He’s either the biggest pop star in the underground or the best-kept secret in the pop world,” Balogun says. “He has dual citizenship. I think he’s becoming that go-to DJ that a pop star will call to freshen up a song, but he’s also still in the trap.”
When Balogun began following Kaytranada online after the latter released his sample-heavy 2013 mixtape, Kaytra Todo, on Jakarta Records, he at first didn’t even register him as a dance artist because he was “on some futuristic hip-hop sh-t. He definitely reminded me of a J Dilla descendant.” Today, he sees Kaytranada as a bridge, someone whose intersections connect music lovers across genres, cultures and generations, like introducing younger listeners to influences such as Madlib and J Dilla — legendary producers who themselves sat at the intersection of hip-hop and dance music and informed Kaytranada’s approach for Kaytraminé — or collaborators like Teedra Moses. (His remix of her 2004 song “Be Your Girl” has far surpassed the original in streams.)
While Kaytranada has intentionally operated “on the outer realm of the industry,” as Robillard Cole puts it, going forward, “the goal is to be the biggest dance artist in the world,” he says, “but [while] staying true to himself. Never compromising. It’s not a monetary goal for us. It’s more respect and critical acclaim than anything. I always tell people that cream rises to the top. It’s the same with good music.” He’s trying to help Kaytranada build a legacy, and paints the image of 25-year-olds flipping through a vinyl shop in the year 2080, geeking out over a Kaytranada record. “That’s what legacy is,” he says.
Marni top, pants, and blazer, Adieu shoes.
Joelle Grace Taylor
No matter his accolades, some professional moments still send Kaytranada spiraling into self-doubt — he’s a Virgo after all, and identifies with the sign’s perfectionist tendencies. But he has increasingly come to understand his value. When I ask him if the remix of “CUFF IT” he premiered at Coachella will ever be released, he shrugs. Parkwood Entertainment, he explains, approached his team about the remix and sent him the vocal stems, but he disagreed with the terms of the proposed contract. (Negotiations are still pending; Parkwood did not respond to requests for comment.) He looks visibly disappointed. He worked hard on the remix and knows it would mean a lot to release it, both to the culture — when Beyoncé’s 2022 album, Renaissance, deeply indebted to house and disco trailblazers, won the Grammy for best dance/electronic album, she thanked “the queer community for your love and for inventing the genre” in her acceptance speech — and to his own career. But he also seems resolute.
“I know my worth. I know they reached out to me to do the remix for a reason, and then to be treated back like I wasn’t all that, it’s kind of weird,” he says. “I’m going to keep it at that. I know my worth.”
A different remix jump-started Kaytranada’s career over 10 years ago: his high-octane club rework of Janet Jackson’s “If,” which sounded like the singer had fallen into a vortex. He worked on the song all night in his bedroom after attending a Flying Lotus show in Montreal, inspired by the producer’s ability to fuse electronic elements with hip-hop. Under the moniker Kaytradamus, he uploaded the remix to SoundCloud at 5 a.m. before passing out.
This was in 2012, when SoundCloud was an influential hub for experimental dance music, and Kaytranada woke up that afternoon to an avalanche of notifications. He recalls peering at his phone and thinking, “What the hell is this?” before going back to sleep, too frazzled to comprehend the attention.
Offers to DJ started trickling in, including an invitation from Robillard Cole to play in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where he was a business student at Saint Mary’s University, in January 2013. (It was the first time Kaytranada flew on an airplane since immigrating to Canada from Haiti as a child.) “I just never heard music like his before — ever,” he says. “The way he puts synths together, his basslines; everything was slightly offbeat.” After the gig, Robillard Cole asked Kaytranada if he had a manager, promising that he could double his rate at the time to $300 a set. He started organizing Kaytranada’s first tour from his accounting class.
Because touring in America required visas, they went to Europe instead. Their budget was $7,000 Canadian, which meant sharing hotel rooms and traveling by bus. The venues were small; Robillard Cole recalls Kaytranada DJ’ing in a jerk chicken restaurant in Manchester, England. But the risks — which included Kaytranada and Robillard Cole eventually dropping out of high school and business school, respectively — paid off. The tour got Kaytranada in front of influential people in the music industry, which led to his 2014 signing with XL Records, the storied British label that has been home to Radiohead, M.I.A. and Arca.
The deal let Kaytranada expand his clout in Europe, which at the time was more receptive to his music. (The United States is currently his biggest market.) It also helped connect him with bigger collaborators for his debut album, 99.9%, which features artists like Vic Mensa, AlunaGeorge and Craig David. “It was a super-big blessing to be signed with XL back then,” says Robillard Cole, “and we just did it as a one-off, which to this day is one of the best decisions [we’ve] ever made because it allowed us to come over to America and sign with RCA Records next and really grow commercially.”
Dries Van Noten suit, Ferragamo shoes, Acne Studios eyewear.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Kaytranada came out in The Fader in 2016, shortly before the release of 99.9%. To his surprise, he found that as his career started to grow, so did his unhappiness, and he recalls thinking, “I’ve got to come out, or I’m going to go crazy.” “At the time, it was just to confirm to myself and to my brain and to the world that I am indeed gay, because I was gay all my life but I definitely suppressed it,” he says. “Growing up with a lot of kids who are just like, ‘Being gay is hell naw.’ In Haiti, hell naw. You cannot be gay.”
Though his anxiety spiked pre-publication, “his whole mentality and energy changed as soon as that article came out,” says his brother, rapper Lou Phelps. “Like he felt more free. He would be less reserved, less shy with the family.”
Though his success has played an important part in realigning mainstream dance music with its gay Black roots, Kaytranada doesn’t necessarily frame his impact in those terms. He recalls learning about dance music’s history in his early 20s through Maestro, the 2003 documentary about DJ culture featuring luminaries like Frankie Knuckles and Larry Levan, and thinking, “Duh — because [house music] sounded very Black,” he says. At the same time, it helped him to better trace his influences; as someone who grew up feeling like “a little weird Black dude” for listening obsessively to acts like Justice and Daft Punk, Kaytranada came to realize that those French electronic artists were themselves borrowing from Black musical genres.
Although he was bullied at his mostly white high school for being small, Black and quiet, kids also regarded him as a tastemaker, someone they approached in the hallways about what they should be listening to — which included everything from Kenyan rock to Linkin Park and the Black Eyed Peas. “I always thought I knew music better than anybody at my school,” he says.
When I ask Kaytranada if he thinks people who come to his shows or participate in dance culture should know about the music’s history, he seems ambivalent. “If you’re into house music, you definitely need to get educated,” he says. “But if you just love the music, that’s cool, too. I don’t really judge when it comes to that.” It’s the kind of noncommittal answer that he tends to give for questions about identity in general, a reticence that suggests he would rather let his work speak for itself. Later, when I ask if he has been able to find gay community in Los Angeles since coming out, he says, “Yes,” then pauses haltingly before acknowledging that he sometimes feels overlooked by the gay community at large for not “proving” that he’s gay enough.
“I thought it was going to be fun,” he says. “[But] it’s like, ‘Oh, you’re not the gay man I thought you was going to be. Oh, your taste is not like my taste. You need to be more gay.’ And that would affect me — but not anymore, because I know I’m really unique at this point. I’m just onto different things.”
Kaytranada photographed on May 11, 2023 at Garibaldina Society in Los Angeles. Commission tank and polo top, Amiri shoes, Martine Ali jewelry, FRED eyewear.
Joelle Grace Taylor
It’s a charge he still seems sensitive about — not being as visibly queer as some other artists — though he insists he’s just being himself, the role model he felt he needed before he came out. Growing up as a hip-hop head, he recalls listening to Mobb Deep’s homophobic lyrics and questioning how he could ever be accepted in the industry. (It might be one reason he always listened to the beats of his favorite rap songs before he delved into the lyrics: “I was always looking at the credits,” he says.)
“Like, how are you going to accept a gay producer?” he recalls thinking. “That was not seen at the time. It seemed impossible.” Mainstream representations of gay men sent him into an identity crisis. “I couldn’t relate to that. I just couldn’t, and I was like, ‘I cannot be gay,’ because I was not into those things,” he says. “That was really a confusing period of my life.”
He points to Frank Ocean coming out on Tumblr in 2012 as a significant turning point in his own self-acceptance. “It kind of made things more possible,” he says, particularly in the world of R&B and hip-hop. And he knows, at this point, that he has become that person for others, too. “When I came out, a lot of musicians secretly came out to me, saying, ‘The [Fader] article moved me.’ And I was like, ‘Word.’ ”
In person, Kaytranada expresses himself with an ease that’s neither flashy nor restrained. Sitting outside of a restaurant on Melrose Avenue, he’s soft-spoken and reserved, burying his hands in his brown Martine Rose track jacket. But over the course of a couple of hours, he grows looser and more expressive, calling the finger sandwiches he orders “cute” (they are cute) and making casual reference to his boyfriend, a photographer he visited Universal Studios with the day before. (Kaytranada’s still a little shaken up from riding Revenge of the Mummy.) They were friends for a year before they started dating in January, and though he’s trying to implement lessons he learned from his last relationship, namely about boundaries, he says they’re together all the time.
At Billboard’s cover shoot the next day, he lies on the floor in a bright orange crop top, balancing against a fallen chair before ending up on his back in the yogic plow pose, his legs flipped over his head. (He started working out two years ago with the help of a trainer and considers himself a “gym rat” now.) Later, he struts out of the dressing room wearing a black suit with a pink wrap around his waist, steps up onto a table and poses like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, his right pointer finger directed skyward. He breaks into a grin as the camera flashes.
Kaytranada’s hands are studded with rings, including the two he bought the night before he won two Grammys. He’s still kicking himself for not superstitiously buying another one before this year’s ceremony, when he was nominated for best dance/electronic recording for “Intimidated,” his silky-smooth collaboration with H.E.R. (He lost — to Beyoncé.) “I bought chains instead,” he says. “I ended up f–king up.”
Kaytranada photographed on May 11, 2023 at Garibaldina Society in Los Angeles.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Recognition from the Recording Academy, he explains, was never the goal. “My idols, the people I looked up to, they never really had Grammys, so it was whatever. But being nominated, it’s a whole different thing. It kind of alters what you’re aiming for.” Now, he says, he’s “trying to make Grammy-winning albums.”
He gave his two trophies to his mother. They are on display in his childhood home, on top of the piano he grew up playing. The awards feel symbolic, not only of his success as an artist, but as a son. Dropping out of high school was a sore spot for his mother, who didn’t see how music could be a viable career. “When I won a Grammy, it really felt like I graduated or something. Like, I have something that means a lot,” he says. “Your name is in history forever.”
In the beginning, when his parents failed to understand what he did, Kaytranada would show them a documentary about The Neptunes to help demonstrate. But “they understood the Grammys — we had a compilation Grammy CD,” he says, grinning. There was no explanation needed.
“I just want to be remembered as one of the greats in terms of producing, not only dance and electronic but also just production in general,” Kaytranada says. He has his wish list of artists he would still love to work with, but says his dream collaboration would be to produce an entire album for a pop star looking to rebrand his or her sound, similar to how Timbaland reoriented Justin Timberlake’s style when he produced 2006’s FutureSex/LoveSounds. He throws out Justin Bieber’s name as an example. “It’s a matter of longevity, too — and, you know, just happiness. Like, as long as you’re comfortable and you’re happy with your life, that’s a form of success — but don’t forget the money part.”
I ask him if he’s happy, and his voice goes up an octave. “Yes, I’m happy!” he says somewhat apprehensively, as if to acknowledge the corniness of the question, or maybe its impossibility, before dropping back down to his normal register. “I’m saying that looking away, but naw, I’m really happy.” He laughs, then tries one more time: “I’m definitely the happiest I’ve been.”
This story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
When introducing Sam Smith and Kim Petras at the 2023 Grammys, pop icon Madonna offered a thought to the audience watching at home: “If they call you shocking, scandalous, troublesome, problematic, provocative or dangerous, you are definitely on to something.”
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The “something” that Madonna is now “on to” is a new song with Sam Smith. “Vulgar,” out now (Friday, June 9) via Capitol Records, is a pulsating dance anthem aimed at taking back the titular adjective for your own pleasure. Each of the pair offers their own breathless, spoken-word interpretations of fierce indulgence of the song’s verses, with Smith proudly proclaiming that “you know you’re beautiful when they call you ‘vulgar.’”
On the track’s chaotic chorus, the bass and beat picks up as a swirl of strings play an entrancing melody to lure listeners even further in. As if to accentuate the point, as the song comes to a close, Madonna accosts the listener: “Do you know how to spell my name? B-I-T-C-H,” she snarls. “Go f–k yourself, you heard me, b—h, say our f–king names!”
“Vulgar” comes after a few weeks of teasing from the pair. Smith first teased the team-up in a social media clip, with the pair each chanting “Sam and Madonna” over and over again. In announcing the single last week, the duo offered some new branding for their team-up, restyling their names together simply as “S&M.”
Both Smith and Madonna are currently ramping up their live schedules; after finishing up the European leg of their Gloria Tour, Smith is bringing their show stateside starting on July 25. Meanwhile, Madonna’s long-awaited Celebration Tour is set to kick off this summer, starting at Rogers Arena in Vancouver, B.C., on July 15.
Stream Sam Smith and Madonna’s “Vulgar” below:
At 11:30 p.m. on Friday, June 2, attorney Brice Timmons was at an event in Memphis aptly named Big Gay Dance Party. He was de-stressing and commiserating with his co-counsel about the lack of action from a federal judge on their lawsuit against the state of Tennessee for its “drag ban.” They had hoped for a ruling before the weekend, but it hadn’t arrived yet — so, they resolved instead to celebrate the start of Pride Month.
Then, they checked their phones; the ruling had just dropped. “It was a ruling that that called the state on the carpet for every every aspect of the law’s unconstitutionality,” he tells Billboard over the phone. “The DJ just stopped the music, the announcer came up onto the stage and just yelled, ‘We won!’ Yeah, that was a high point of my career.”
Throughout his 70-page ruling, U.S. District Judge Thomas Parker found in favor of Timmons’ clients Friends of George’s, a Memphis-based LGBTQ theater company and drag troupe. The judge determined the Tennessee’s Adult Entertainment Act (or “AEA”) was an “unconstitutional restriction on the freedom of speech,” and permanently prevented District Attorney General Steven Mulroy of Shelby County, Tenn. — the defendant in the case — from enforcing the law.
While Timmons says that he is “very proud to have done this work,” he’s not all that surprised by the outcome. “This has not been very challenging legal analysis — it’s just a new generation of bigots trying the same old tricks,” he says.
Those “tricks” Timmons refers to had the state appealing to the interest of protecting children from explicit sexual content, claiming that the law was intended to be narrowly applied to only certain kinds of drag performances in public spaces.
But LGBTQ advocates and community members like Friends of George’s pointed out that the law’s intentional vagueness left the door open for the state to apply the law in a wide variety of ways — a fact that Judge Parker agreed with, saying in his ruling the AEA was “both unconstitutionally vague and substantially overbroad” in its scope.
When looking at the defense mounted by Tennessee, Timmons recognizes the tactics used. “Going into court and lying is a long standing legal strategy for governments that want to abuse their power,” he says. “It’s not that their legal theory is simply incorrect; it’s false. So they had to walk into court, to lie about why the law was passed, to lie about what the law says, and to lie about what the effects of the law will be.”
Timmons’ case, meanwhile, revolved largely around a number of First Amendment legal precedents set by the Supreme Court. In one case — Ashcroft v. ACLU — the Court upheld that a censorship law passed by Congress aimed at preventing children from accessing pornographic material on the internet was a violation of the First Amendment.
“Those laws were much more carefully drafted, and they did not have an a fundamentally inappropriate purpose. They weren’t targeting certain types of performers or certain types of websites,” he explains. “And still the Supreme Court said, ‘The state doesn’t get to insert itself into communicative decision making, unless it does so in just the most carefully, narrowly crafted way.’”
Since the ruling was officially released, the state has not officially announced an appeal — it has 30 days from the date of the ruling to file and appeal on the decision. But Tennessee Attorney General Jonathan Skrmetti told The New York Times in a statement not only that the state planned to appeal the decision, but that he feels the law “remains in effect outside of Shelby County.”
Timmons doesn’t mince his words when it comes to Skrmetti’s claim: “I think it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard a lawyer say.” He points out that while Judge Parker offered a permanent enjoinment to the district attorney general of Shelby County and not the entirety of the state, he still ruled that the law itself was unconstitutional.
“That means there is no constitutional application for that law,” Timmons says. “If Jonathan Skrmetti wants to tell law enforcement officers in the state of Tennessee to go in and force an unconstitutional law, then I guess I’ll just have a cottage industry suing those law enforcement officers.”
As for other states where restrictions or bans on public drag performances have been passed, Timmons says that the Tennessee ruling is going to play a major factor. He knows this from experience — when he answers his phone for this interview, he’s just leaving court in Florida, where he argued as lead council against the state’s restrictive drag law on behalf of Hamburger Mary’s.
“[The Tennessee ruling] was the first thing that the judge here in Florida asked about during the hearing today,” he says. “It seems like judge Parker’s ruling is going to be, you know, a guide for how other courts will address this.”
Timmons says he’s already working with lawyers in Montana and Texas preparing to mount their own suits against their states’ respective drag bans, and that he and his team will “do everything we can to help them.” As for the impending threat of an appeal from Tennessee? “We’ve got a good team of lawyers, and nothing succeeds like success.”
After seeing Maren Morris offer her own interpretation of his iconic style, Willie Nelson has some thoughts. On Wednesday (June 7), Morris graced the cover of Billboard alongside drag stars Eureka O’Hara, Landon Cider, Sasha Colby and Symone. Surrounded by all kinds of different drag, Morris decided to dress in full Willie Nelson drag, complete […]
For a drag performer with a stacked resumé, packed schedule and an ever-shifting wardrobe, Symone could be forgiven for seeming a bit tired. But while speaking to Billboard for a recent cover (alongside Maren Morris, Sasha Colby, Landon Cider and Eureka O’Hara), the only time the RuPaul’s Drag Race season 13 winner shows a hint of exhaustion is while addressing the rash of anti-LGBTQ laws spreading across the country like a virus.
“It’s a distraction from what’s really going on, what’s really hurting kids in the country,” she sighs. “Gun violence is the number one thing that kills kids.” It’s a point that’s impossible to argue: guns recently became the leading cause of death in children and teens between the ages of 1 and 19 in America.
“It’s a distraction. Gay people, trans people, our whole community has always been an easy mark. It’s easier than dealing with what’s actually going on in the country,” she continues. “Ultimately, they don’t want people to feel that they can express themselves and be different — or that there’s a different way of living outside of the norm.”
An urge to break out of the box was exactly what brought Symone to drag in the first place. Growing up in Conway, Arkansas, the self-described “shy, reserved kid” began doing her own makeup after school around age 16. By 18, she left the house in drag for the first time — to attend her senior prom.
A stint at a club on amateur night followed a few months later, and she’s been doing drag ever since. “It gave me permission to be myself,” she says of the art form. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, this is what’s missing in my life.’ ”
As one of the drag queens to be catapulted into cultural consciousness by the hit reality competition, Symone continues to operate by her own rules. She’ll walk the Met Gala one month, pop up in a music video (“Simple Times”) from Nashville singer-songwriter Kacey Musgraves the next, all while continuing to chart a course through Los Angeles nightlife via the House of Avalon collective.
While the regressive laws aren’t exactly quashing expression in queer meccas like WeHo, Symone knows that other communities aren’t so lucky. “It was very strange. I felt like there’s a contention there,” Symone says of a recent visit to her home state. “It’s heavier, much more than it was when I was growing up… I felt safe enough to go to prom in drag 10 years ago, and I was like, ‘I don’t know if I could do that now.’ It feels more conservative than it did even 10 years ago. And that, to me, is very strange.”
The queen is quick to clarify that the change in the atmosphere isn’t affecting her itinerary: “Is that going to deter me from going home and doing drag or going to the South and doing drag? Absolutely not.” Still, she notes that several of her sisters have begun avoiding drag performances in certain parts of the country because they don’t want to risk their safety by becoming “a focal point” for outraged — and perhaps even violent — people.
“That’s warranted, that’s very valid,” she says. “I just feel like, ‘We can’t let them do that to us.’ But it’s a very hard time. It’s a very difficult time.”
The Drag Race champ is aware that the privilege of expression afforded to her by her platform doesn’t apply to everyone. To queer kids living in states that are passing laws targeting their freedoms, she urges, “Find your family and find people who support you. You may not have them around you in your small town, but there is the internet — build a community and seek solace in that.
“Also, I will say: vote. We can have all the community and all the allyship that we want, but if we’re not voting into office the people that are going to look out for our interests, it doesn’t help. We have these laws coming down the pike because [anti-LGBTQ candidates] are being voted in, and so they feel like they can pass these laws. It’s going to keep happening. So go out in the local elections, midterms — it’s not just the presidential elections [that matter].”
As for where she finds solace these days, it turns out that one of the world’s most fashion-forward and inventive drag queens isn’t all that different from the rest of us. “When I feel bad, TV has always been my respite, my rescue and my solace. It’s how I found out about drag and pop culture, growing up where I did,” she says. “It’s my happy place.”
A version of this story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
“To me, this is a Christian crusade,” declares Landon Cider of the ongoing legislative efforts targeting drag and trans individuals across the country. “It’s just eradicating what you don’t understand or what you don’t believe to be morally correct. And in today’s day and age, it is so ridiculous that we still have people using religion to dictate what other people should do.”
Cider, the politically outspoken winner of season 3 of The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula, speaks bluntly and with a firm conviction about most issues. But when addressing the political right’s won’t-somebody-please-think-of-the-children dog whistle attacks on drag, he’s exasperated. “They’re just projecting what’s happening in their own churches,” he says, alluding to the well-documented history of children being sexually abused by priests in the Catholic church.
Some high-profile drag performers are willing to play nice when advocating for their art form, but Cider — who covers the latest issue of Billboard alongside Maren Morris, Sasha Colby, Eureka O’Hara and Symone — isn’t worried about pissing people off.
Before Kristine Bellaluna established the Landon Cider persona, she began developing skills with special effects makeup in high school, fueled by her love of horror films. The Los Angeles native was even sent home one time for “looking too gory,” thanks to a look that involved a screwdriver entering and exiting her flesh. She was involved in the theater growing up but was sidelined when her mother got sick — and then by her own battle with oral cancer as an adult. When she emerged from the fray, she felt an urge to return to the stage, but not in the theater: “I felt like it was not allowing me to be creative as much as I wanted.”
Enter Landon Cider, a “glamdrogynous” drag king influenced by everything from Freddie Mercury to The Lost Boys to the Leprechaun slasher films. Cider made history as the first drag king to win an American drag reality competition in 2019, when he emerged as Dragula’s top dog during a season that streamed on Netflix (the show now airs on Shudder). A trailblazer in his own right, he’s quick to list off the many important drag kings that preceded him, from late 19th century Native American performer Gowongo Mohawk to Harlem Renaissance blues singer Gladys Bentley, up through modern drag godfathers such as Mo B. Dick and Sexy Galexy, who created community and opportunities in New York City and Australia, respectively.
While drag’s presence in the cultural mainstream has exploded in the last decade thanks largely to RuPaul’s Drag Race, the wildly popular series has yet to spotlight any drag kings as competitors, contributing to a lack of parity when it comes to representation. “Our community is a subculture of a subculture,” Cider explains. “With any subculture, you’re going to have microcosm of the world and the society that it exists within — and sexism and misogyny is alive and well in our society, so that exists in the drag community as well…. As a cis woman and a proud lesbian who has been with her wife for 15 years, it’s every day that we face society’s sexist and misogynistic disrespect of women. Honestly, one of the reasons I became a drag king is so I can mansplain things back to men,” Cider laughs. “I’m manspreading mansplaining.”
But with the rise in anti-queer and anti-trans laws and rhetoric, Cider admits that he’s not comfortable manspreading everywhere in America these days. “I don’t plan on taking gigs in some of these states,” Cider says. “And not because I don’t want to stand for what’s right, but I want to come home to my wife. It’s a legitimate fear that we have now traveling to some of these states and some of these locations. And that’s so scary and so sad. Even 10 years ago, people wouldn’t have believed that.”
But staying safe doesn’t mean staying silent, and Cider remains outspoken on everything from racist politicians to misogyny within the queer community. Speaking to the next generation of drag kings, Cider urges, “Don’t let people tell you that you don’t belong. We’ve had too many drag queens — too many men — in charge telling us that we don’t belong in these spaces, or that we shouldn’t share these spaces. But we need you.”
Ironically, those drag gatekeepers could be seen as subscribing to the same rigid view of a gender binary that fuels religious conservatives. And to Cider’s mind, forcing the world into binaries means ignoring reality. “[Those with] conservative religious views, they see things on such a binary because they reject nature,” Cider says. “And nature is not binary. They reject all forms of evolution — not just the earth’s creation, but the evolution of art.”
A version of this story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
When speaking to Sasha Colby about the rash of laws targeting drag performers and trans individuals in America, it’s clear that she’s thought a lot about the politicians trying to silence people like her. And she’s probably sized them up with a far greater generosity than they’ve afforded her.
“I don’t even think they are necessarily mad at us,” opines Colby, who became the first trans woman of color to win RuPaul’s Drag Race in April. “I think they understand that our voice is very loud right now. I feel like they understand how much power we hold as a commerce and as people that have a lot of voting power. They’re just trying to scare us back into the closet, for lack of better words, because that’s the only thing that they know how to operate on. They don’t know how to operate on love — they’ve never done that — so they only know how to do fear.”
For the Waimānalo, Hawaii-born entertainer, the effect of fear-based bigotry is sadly close to home. Although her Jehovah’s Witness family would call her into the living room to dance along to Whitney Houston videos on MTV when she was a kid, they met her with less than open arms when she openly embraced her trans identity. Despite coming from a conservative religious background, Colby says there were “so many trans people in Hawaii” around her while she was growing up: “There was a lot of representation, probably to the point where I didn’t realize how many trans people I was interacting with as a kid. Mom’s hairdresser was a full trans woman and I never put it together [until later] — she just seemed like a really cool glamorous lady.”
Colby developed her drag skills secretly as a teenager behind a locked bathroom door. The self-professed “full-on ham” (“I definitely have main character syndrome,” she jokes) stuck with drag over the years because of the control it affords a DIY artist. “It’s one of the very few arts where you are completely in charge of yourself. You’re not working with a team — you’re not contributing to a bigger machine,” she says. “Drag is very personal. In drag, you are a living, breathing art installation — constantly changing, constantly improving. And this art is helping you grow.”
That art took center stage on season 15 of Drag Race, where Colby’s thoughtful interpretations of each episode’s challenges — and wildly acrobatic lip syncs — commanded the spotlight. The show enjoyed some its best ratings in years, with the season 15 finale ratings up 17% compared to the previous year’s.
Now, the naturally empathetic Colby is stepping comfortably into a larger spotlight (she covers the latest issue of Billboard alongside Maren Morris, Eureka O’Hara, Symone and Landon Cider). “It feels really nice to be able to be a trans woman of color that is being asked my opinion, and [who can be] a source of inspiration and safety for a lot of scared queer people out there,” she says. And she’s not letting opportunities to make a difference, whether big or small, slide by.
“I’m on the plane quite a bit, and sometimes I get to be business class. [I’m often] sitting next to people that probably would never talk to a trans person — or they’re watching Fox News right next to me,” Colby says with a dry chuckle. “I feel like I do have a very disarming personality, so that I end up leaving the person at least humanizing my experience so that they can understand what a trans person is.”
Colby’s aim is to get through to people — and yes, voters — who feel like the only way they can get ahead is by putting down others. “We have to make everyone’s human interest everyone’s concern,” she says. “We have to bridge that gap: why can’t you get what you need, but so does everyone else as well?” On a more somber note, she at least hopes that those interactions remind Fox News lovers that trans people — who are four times as likely to be victims of violent crime, according to a 2021 UCLA study — are human beings and not political scapegoats or statistics. “When they see a trans person getting killed, [I hope they] remember meeting me,” she says. “They made a human connection, which will hopefully help them vote in a more equal, enlightened way.”
In the face of everything going on, Colby says she finds solace in music, whether it’s “a good sad girls’ playlist” or the avant-flavored dance music of Kaytranada and Róisín Murphy. She also draws inspiration from her drag peers and friends, such as Brooklyn drag iconoclast Untitled Queen. “She gives me so much life,” Colby raves, instantly lighting up. “She’s a perfect example of what drag is when it’s a fully immersive way of being.”
As a gloriously unpredictable drag queen, she also points to a rather unexpected source of reassurance during tough times: documentaries that show how “human civilization evolves or de-evolves” over the centuries. “The pendulum goes back and forth,” she says. “It’s the momentum of life.” It’s a Zen approach, but don’t let it fool you into thinking Colby isn’t committed to high-kicking that pendulum back from its current far-right swing. Speaking to the next generation, she offers, “We’re going to make sure to make this place a little better for you all, a little safer, so you can feel freedom to express yourselves however you need to.
“And move to a big city whenever you can,” she continues with a laugh. “But vote in the small city at your parents’ address.”
A version of this story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
Maren Morris downs a shot of tequila with a wince. “I love that we’re taking shots and then saying, ‘OK, so let’s talk about Ron DeSantis,’ ” Morris says with a chuckle.
The four drag luminaries she’s toasting with today — Eureka O’Hara, Landon Cider, Sasha Colby and Symone — grimace through their own post-shot puckers at the mention of the Florida governor’s (and now, presidential hopeful’s) name. It’s an otherwise cheerful weekday in Los Angeles: Pop jams ranging from ABBA to Doja Cat play in the background as the quintet gabs gleefully about everything from Three’s Company to O’Hara’s adorable dachshund puppy, Princess Pink, who makes occasional appearances nearby.
But the shadow of the world outside can’t stay beyond this room for long. The mention of DeSantis — who recently signed a batch of anti-LGBTQ+ bills into law that collectively amount to a full attack on the civil rights of queer and trans people in Florida — is just one reminder that in 2023 alone, over 450 bills targeting LGBTQ+ rights have been introduced by right-wing politicians into state legislatures across the country, according to the American Civil Liberties Union. That’s more than double the amount of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation introduced in the same legislative session in 2022.
The five assembled today frequently, and fervently, use their respective individual platforms to speak against such attacks on the LGBTQ+ community. O’Hara, Cider, Colby and Symone are alums (and, in a few cases, winners) of some of TV’s most beloved drag reality shows, like RuPaul’s Drag Race and The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula. Morris, who’s moderating today’s discussion, has made a name for herself not only as one of country music’s brightest stars, but as an outspoken advocate — both onstage and off — for queer and trans people, calling out their mistreatment in the music industry and beyond.
The legislation leveled against those communities spans a wide range of issues — censoring discussions of gender and sexuality in public schools, banning best-practice medical care for transgender youth (and in some instances for adults, too), eliminating nondiscrimination protections for the LGBTQ+ community. And another type of legislation has quickly captured national attention: so-called “drag bans.” In March, Tennessee became the first state to pass a bill into law prohibiting “adult cabaret” performances (the definition of which includes “male or female impersonators”) in public or in the presence of minors.
“It’s just now becoming public knowledge how horrible it is there,” says O’Hara, who grew up in Tennessee, her voice quivering. “It’s scary to be trans today and to be a drag queen.” Colby puts it simply: “It’s about controlling queer kids.”
After the state’s ban sparked a legal battle with Memphis-based theater company Friends of George’s, a federal judge temporarily blocked the law. Then, on June 2, U.S. District Judge Thomas Parker ruled that the law violates performers’ First Amendment rights and deemed it unconstitutional. The ruling prevents the law from taking effect in Tennessee’s Shelby County and creates potential for further legal challenges elsewhere in the state. Tennessee Attorney General Jonathan Skrmetti has already said that he plans to appeal the ruling to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit.
“This ruling is a turning point, and we will not go back,” said GLAAD president/CEO Sarah Kate Ellis in a statement. “Every anti-LGBTQ elected official is on notice that these baseless laws will not stand and that our constitutional freedom of speech and expression protects everyone and propels our culture forward.”
But LGBTQ+ advocates in Tennessee point out that, overturned or not, the law’s initial passage still accomplished one goal: creating a culture of confusion and fear surrounding self-expression in the state. Due to the intentional vagueness of the law, its enforcement would come down to individual interpretation, sparking hypothetical questions like, “If Harry Styles comes and does a concert at Bridgestone Arena in Nashville and has on a frilly shirt or a skirt or a dress…” posits Morris. “What do we do then? In a place like Tennessee, it’s obviously really meant to fearmonger.”
Maren Morris in drag as Willie Nelson photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Laura Polko at PRTNRS. Makeup by Diane Buzzetta at Blended Strategy. Drag Makeup Consulting by Landon Cider. Manicure by Queenie Nguyen at Nailing Hollywood. Styling by Dani Michelle at The Only Agency. Vintage shirt and bolo tie, Our Legacy jeans, Nick Fouquet hat.
Munachi Osegbu
At least 15 other states, including Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Missouri, North Carolina and Texas, are either considering or have already passed legislation similar to Tennessee’s drag ban — and that’s creating an impending sense of dread that keeps the drag stars and Morris fired up. “If you don’t want to go to a drag show, don’t go to a drag show. If you don’t want to have your kids at a drag show, don’t take your kids to a drag show. But don’t put that on us!” Symone exclaims. Cider nods in agreement. “The only part of ‘grooming’ that I’m doing,” he says, “is grooming kids to find joy in their authentic selves.”
Maren Morris: How have you been coming to terms with the number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills passing through the state legislatures around the country? I live in Tennessee, and I feel like that’s unfortunately at the forefront for a lot of them.
Symone: I don’t think I’ve come to terms with it; I think I’ve just realized that I am in a rage about it. Growing up, it wasn’t like it is now, and it’s frustrating to see all this hate, this vitriol for people who just spread love and only want to be seen and accepted. I cannot believe in 2023 we’re here. Especially after doing the respective [TV] shows that we’ve done and being embraced over all these years, for it to feel like such a backlash is insane to me. I won’t come to terms with it because we deserve everything that you think that we don’t deserve.
Morris: Have you seen it affect your own bookings or your friends’ bookings?
Sasha Colby: Right now, being in gigs with the other season 15 [Drag Race] girls, I feel like in our group chats we’re all very much on high alert and asking our friends, like Aura [Mayari] who’s in Tennessee, “How is it?” I think everyone’s just being very cautious.
Drag is so popular right now [because] it’s hitting a nerve with people, both good and bad. The bad is that they see how good we’re doing and how happy we’re making people and how out of the matrix we are. Kids are coming! It’s not grooming, it’s just making space for them to be themselves.
Landon Cider: When we were hiding and forced to create secret spaces, we found community. We were bonding and forging these relationships in this underground culture. Now that it’s celebrated in the mainstream, it backfired. It’s thrown in our face. We didn’t force it to be mainstream! They did!
Colby: We weren’t allowed in cis spaces. We weren’t allowed to be anything but outcasts. And then we share it with the world, and they just want to colonize our thoughts as well as everything else.
Symone: I think it does scare them because of the kids. The kids are seeing us, and they grow up saying, “Well, why would I need to be anything other than this?” That is scary for people who are not of this generation and who grew up a different way.
Sasha Colby photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Jazlyn Simons. Makeup by James Michael Perez. Michael Ngo custom bodysuit, gloves, and boots.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: There is not a “one size fits all” conveyor belt of parenting; everyone has a different thing. Saying that this is all “adult” — some drag is, absolutely! But I’ve seen the Mrs. Doubtfire reference made a lot, where it’s hilarious if it’s a cis [straight] male in drag. Then it’s OK for the kids to see, but God forbid you see someone truly expressing themselves, entertaining and just being free.
Eureka O’Hara: It’s OK if it’s a joke. But we take this seriously — this gives us inspiration and life. I come from East Tennessee, and I went through all of this times 10 living there. It makes me so mad — I have a trans Black sister who just moved in with me a few months ago, and she’s finally doing OK after 19 years of being abused. And that’s what this is.
You all know it’s not about drag. Let’s be real. These [are] scare tactics, and it just gets me so emotional. It’s about how we express ourselves, and it’s about the youth — because we have the queerest youth we’ve ever had right now. And that’s what they’re mad about. These kids are learning about who they are before they’re 18, 25, 30 years old and still have to deal with abuse like this.
Colby: The whole thing with being trans is they sexualize us. It’s funny when it’s a joke, but as soon as they sexualize us, then they’re going to want to control, like how they do with cisgender women, how they do with kids.
Cider: They’re projecting their own hatred and fear of their own community and their own small “safe” spaces.
Morris: What’s that saying? “Every threat from them is an actual admission.”
Colby: Exactly. It’s always them showing their cards.
Symone: I also just want to put out there that people may think now that it’s just the drag queens, it’s just trans people. But if they can do it to them, then they can do it to anybody else. Don’t think that just because they’re attacking us right now that y’all are going to be somehow exempt from it. We’re just the easiest targets. Just look at history.
That’s another thing that I cannot stand — the misinformation. Know what you’re speaking about, know what you’re saying before you speak. You don’t have to like a trans person. But don’t say things that you don’t know anything about. Educate yourself. Don’t put your stuff on somebody else. What did Madonna say? “Don’t hang your sh-t on me.”
Cider: Don’t push your legislature to take control and tell other people what they can or cannot do [with their bodies]. Usually, it is religious reasons why they’re doing all of this because their beliefs are binary. When we have this particular religious control, they want to put fearmongering into what has been celebrated because they don’t understand it.
Eureka O’Hara photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Jaymes Mansfield. Makeup by Loris Volkle. Marco Marco custom dress.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: The fact is, they don’t have solutions for actual problems — this is their niche thing that they get to go off on. I’m from Texas, I live in Tennessee, and I do love the community I have there, but these bills almost incentivize us to turn on one another. They’re rewarding us to turn each other in, which feels kind of like a Nazi Germany thing where we turn on our own communities.
Colby: And they call it “patriotism.”
Morris: With drag being more popular than ever right now, how do you think it ultimately influences pop culture?
Colby: We used to be a mirror — like in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, we would mirror pop culture. Now we get to be pop culture. We are who celebrities, designers, artists want to work with or are inspired by.
O’Hara: Obviously, there’s so much bad that comes from the hatred and the discrimination. But to have it be publicly talked about and having these discussions — like, how many celebrities have stood up for drag lately?
Cider: It’s interesting because it’s kind of the flip for me. As a drag king, I don’t see myself and my version of my art form celebrated the way that the art of drag queens is. So it’s bittersweet because I see my sisters being catapulted into this stardom, and I’m so excited and happy for all of them. But when are we going to understand that kings have been around for just as long, if not longer, in some cultures? Sexism and misogyny take over a lot, and that’s why trans women have been hidden in secret, too; it’s that same misogyny, the same sexism.
I am not trans, but when I see my trans siblings getting attacked… If you attack one of us, you attack all of us. And it’s the same when I see my siblings being celebrated — you celebrate one of us, you celebrate all of us. So I’m celebrating them, but I’m still waiting for us to be recognized and fully embraced. We see masculinity celebrated on the runway on RuPaul’s Drag Race all the time — in the Snatch Game or Victoria [Scone] and Mo Heart doing these very masculine looks — but we still don’t see kings.
O’Hara: You talked about the sexism and misogyny — it’s also the heteronormative culture of “Men are men, women are women,” and seeing a drag king is probably even harder for them to see.
Colby: Because they don’t know how to sexualize and objectify you.
O’Hara: Tea!
Morris: Piggybacking on that, these bills are so vague in their language that it’s intentionally hard to know where the line is between what is drag and what is not, and it’s obviously really meant to eradicate the existence of trans people. I mean, even a lot of these [male] country artists wear tighter jeans than I do.
Colby: And have bigger highlights! But that’s the thing: All the beauty in country music is always so good.
Landon Cider photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Wigs By Vanity. Makeup by Landon Cider. Fontasia L’Amour suit, ORTTU shirt.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: It’s elevated, right? Dolly Parton famously said that if she wasn’t Dolly, she would be a drag queen. Especially when I’m going into glam for an event, I’m looking at a lot of y’all’s photos. Like, talk about culture and impact — it affects me, too! I want to sit and be beat for the gods! Even that language — I just said something that was totally born out of this community. I exist in this space of country music, where you don’t have to do much to be seen as a brave voice, unfortunately.
Symone: And that’s why it’s so important for you to be here, because country music — and I’ll also add in rap and hip-hop here — those genres need people to come out and say something more than any other [genre] because those are the ones that are the most heteronormative.
Colby: And they have a lot of people’s ears in America. They are two of the most listened-to genres in the country.
Symone: For you to be here and say those things is so important — we need all our divas. We need you to love us now.
Morris: Are there any specific examples of good, helpful allyship that you’ve seen from artists in the last few years?
Cider: Aside from you, I look at somebody like Lizzo and the show she did in Nashville recently [with drag performers].
Symone: Yes, completely. If you’re going to Tennessee this summer for touring, get the girls up there. Get some kings up there, too!
Colby: The local girls, too, because the local performers are the ones in danger here, especially in these small towns with a lot of drag. I’ve noticed that a lot of small Southern towns have these safe spaces for queer people, and they are the ones who are going to feel the impact of all this legislation first. We get to be the face and the voice and try to do our best, but it’s these small towns that we really have to be concerned about.
Symone photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Gigi Goode. Makeup by RYLIE. Marko Monroe custom dress.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: For anyone who may be reading this, what can people do to help?
Symone: Vote. That’s first and foremost.
O’Hara: Go to these organizations that work with lobbyists to watch out for the progression of these bills. Because it’s not just at a state and national level that we’re being harmed. It’s the small community governments, it’s the city governments, it’s these local places. We have organizations like ACLU and places of that nature, every state has those lobbyists — the Tennessee Transgender Political Coalition would be a great one for anyone to donate to. Of course you have to vote, but we scream that all day every day. It’s not just about voting for the president.
A lot of times, I think the most important thing is to take care of the people around you who aren’t being looked after. Talk to the quiet queer kids that look scared, that aren’t being social. Go befriend the people that don’t look happy. Stop being mean girls, and that goes for gay people, too. Step up and be there for each other, for someone other than yourself and the people who make you feel cool.
Cider: Be an active ally when it matters. If you’ve shared a smile, a laugh, a memory with a queer person, don’t let that memory hide in the closet. Take that memory where it counts — to your pulpits, to your family reunions, to the locker rooms, to the places where you know you’re going to get sh-t on for speaking out for us. That’s where it matters the most because maybe it’ll open some eyes.
Colby: I always tell my cis-het friends who have children, “You don’t have to go to every protest and stand on your soapbox. What you do have control over is the kids you created. All you can do is leave this world a little better than you left it. Make those kids allies.”
Morris: Is there anything y’all want to ask me?
Cider: You’re using your platform beautifully already, and we appreciate you, we thank you for everything. But it’s also not a hard thing to do, to be an ally and to use your platform in the way that you do. How would you encourage your peers to do the same?
Morris: I have heard the term “Shut up and sing” more times than I can count — that’s always the cutesy little threat that they like to make. So I would say to my peers who are artists and to record-label heads, publishers, songwriters: I don’t think any of us got into this art form to be an activist, but that’s ultimately thrust upon you to exist in this space and to feel like you can sleep at night. You’re going to lose fans along the way — that is just part and parcel of being public-facing. But there is a lane that you’re widening; I see it year over year at my shows, the crowd feels so diverse and so safe. I know everyone likes money, but is it worth your biography saying that you never picked a side because both sides pay money to buy a T-shirt?
This story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.