Senior Research

Protest As Identity

What follows below is an edited version of a senior research paper from Fall 2018, entitled “Protest as Identity: An Examination of Protest Music as a Mechanism for Cultural Shifts With A Specific Focus on Queer Identity in Music”.

Click here to view a playlist inspired by this research.

Advised by Dr. Victoria Fischer-Faw.

Throughout history, groups of individuals have gotten together to make a change when something is not going the way they think it should. These acts of protest, as they are known, are used to affect identities and cultures and to make some sort of change. By using their voice, these groups are challenging the status quo and invoking direct action to make a change. 

And while protests can be fully sustainable on their own, many of them invoke music in conjunction with the movement for strength, unity, and communication. These can either be songs that already exist and are utilized or repurposed, or they can be songs written specifically for the movements in question. But these songs invoke a message and are able to bring people together to rally behind the cause regardless.

Within the United States, many of these protests and the music behind them can spark a larger cultural shift that can continue well beyond. There are various powerful examples of this throughout America’s four hundred year history – slave songs, some of which were said to have been used for the Underground Railroad; songs of the Civil Rights Movements; songs for and against the Vietnam War, to name just a few.

Two of the biggest protest movements in modern America were the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s and the Vietnam War Era of the 1960s and 1970s, partly because they inspired two massive cultural shifts in society. For the first time, there was a widespread challenge to two status quo – one in regards to race and one war – that gripped America for an extended period of time. 

The impact of the Civil Rights Movement is something taught in the American schooling system at least once during the K-12 years. The movement put the United States on an entirely new path; one of de-segregation, equity and equality, and an overall improvement in race relations. Songs like “We Shall Overcome”, “Alabama” and “People Get Ready” were all written and adapted for the era of Civil Rights protest. Generally, these songs brought people together to encourage them in the activism they were participating in. 

Following the Civil Rights Movement was the War in Vietnam, another movement that spawned a massive following and marked a larger cultural shift within American society. Up until about the 1920s, war was always portrayed as a noble and heroic effort; only after The Great War did the tone change to a request for peace or a recognition of those that lost their lives. There was a brief pause in this during World War II, which was a complex issue and the role of composers supporting the war was born out of necessity; you couldn’t oppose a war against the Nazi Party. But the war in Vietnam was the first time that composers really changed the tone of their compositions; no longer was there an overarching tone of patriotism, regardless of wartime feelings. And during Vietnam, art music composers and pop singers both eventually shared the same sentiment, that this war was wrong and that they were going to actively oppose it.

Pop singers like Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Tom Paxon, and Phil Ochs were great representations of individuals actively opposing war in music. Some of them maintained pacifist ideals in their songs to keep in line with the “Make Love, Not War” slogans of the time, though the lyrics could also have veiled threats of violence if things did not change soon. The general mood of the antiwar protestors during Vietnam was focused on peace and a swift end to the conflict. 

To reinforce calls for peace and armistice, composers and singers would sometimes utilize sounds to recreate the horrors of war: overly-active dissonance, loud bangs, electronic machine guns and cannons. This would allow listeners to feel as though they were immersed in war and have real feelings about the experience. This caused people to be uncomfortable, disturbed, by war and be able to actively oppose it if necessary.

Eventually, the antiwar movements and the music dominating the movements and the radio led to the unofficial end of the Vietnam War, signaling the larger cultural shift created and maintained by the music and movements.

Recent decades have also given rise to the visibility of queer identity through various forms of art, especially music. For this paper, I will be using 'queer' in the same way as I would use LGBTQ+; 'queer' is more of an umbrella term in the 21st Century. And though queerness is seemingly more accepted today in 2018, it’s been around since the beginning. As protest, though, it’s a little more nebulous than protest music of other eras and topics because queer identity is inextricably linked to the art, whether overtly or not.

The first big documentation of queer art started in the 1970s with hit group the Village People. Hits like “Y.M.C.A.”, “In The Navy”, and “Macho Man” captivated mainstream audiences and propelled the group into stardom, but they were different than other groups of the time. Intended initially to appeal to gay men, many of the Village People’s members were part of the queer community, so their very existence on the charts or as mainstream artists was its own statement of protest.

Indeed, this is reflected in some of their lyrics. Much of America knows the classic hit “Y.M.C.A.” which sings the praises of the organization itself, but the song is also a double entendre about how the Y.M.C.A. can serve as a gay fantasy – overtly, a place for gay, bisexual, or male-identifying individuals to gaze at the 'male physique'; but covertly, a place for these men to go cruising. ‘Cruising’ can be defined as looking for a typically quick, one-time, anonymous sexual encounter. It’s important to note that Victor Willis of the Village People noted that the song was about the fun that urban black youth had at the organization, though he also addressed his enjoyment of double entendres.

“Y.M.C.A" peaked at Number 2 on the US Charts and Number 1 on the UK Charts in 1979, meaning that mainstream, usually heterosexual audiences were enjoying the song without necessarily focusing on the double entendres. Which, in some ways could be considered weird, given that the title of the album featuring 'Y.M.C.A' was called Cruisin’ and the fact that Willis was fond of using double entendres. 

The early period of queer visibility and queer art also gave rise to ball culture. Balls are a subset of queer culture wherein, put simply, contestants 'walk' (compete) in various settings while performing gender expression and gender identity for various prizes. Ball culture was, and still is, a pretty underground event just due to the nature of gender performances (both exaggerating masculinity or femininity as a parody of homosexuality as well as the art of drag) and the fact that many of those competing in balls were of Black or Latinx descent. These balls have existed in Harlem since the 1920s, though they were not well-known by an 'outside' audience until much later. Jennie Livingston, director of the groundbreaking Paris is Burning documentary, is credited by some for making ball culture visible to a larger audience. Though not without its controversies, the 1991 documentary Paris is Burning is considered by many to be a good depiction of New York City ball culture, especially at the end of its “Golden Age”. 

Ball culture still exists today through more niche pageants, but the general culture gave rise to a larger, more visible drag community after its heyday. This can be seen best on RuPaul’s Drag Race, spearheaded by drag trailblazer RuPaul Charles, where mainstream audiences get to tune in and watch drag queens compete. Many of these queens are musicians or politically engaged individuals, sometimes both, and they get to subvert expectations and the “status quo” of reality TV. 

Both RuPaul’s Drag Race and the larger drag collective exist slightly out of the mainstream focus; confined to more 'underground' or ‘niche’ channels that are more away from palpable, predominately straight and white culture. As a result, these drag shows are part of 'oppositional culture', a political statement to simply dress up in an exaggerated form of gender identity when the queer community was not widely accepted. And even though many of these artists go on to garner tons of Instagram followers, acquire modeling campaigns, and work full-time as drag artists, that’s not to say that they are always fully accepted or understood. 

Going out in drag is in and of itself a political statement, an act of protest; they’re exaggerating masculinity or femininity, but in the context of a society that hasn’t necessarily deemed it “okay” or “acceptable” overall. 

By doing drag, these individuals are contributing to a collective consciousness that works in direct contrast to ‘typical’ culture. Time and time again, society defaults to a gender binary where you can only be a ‘man’ or a ‘woman’ and that individuals who express themselves outside of traditional masculinity or femininity can be chastised. But researchers Leila Rupp and Verta Taylor, through extensive research on drag performances, have concluded that “drag performances…is used strategically for the purpose of disrupting hegemonic gender and sexual categories and hierarchies”. 

One of the most integral parts of drag performances is a musical performance, usually in the form of a lip-sync. The music that performers choose to lip-sync to is important; they’re in front of an audience and they want a response, an interaction, regardless of gender identity and sexuality. While many songs that drag performers choose to lip-sync to are those of gay icons, pop divas, and the like, some performers have opted to take a more visible, political approach.

And as well, historical data also supports their theory and shows that drag performances were a precursor to overt political action. One way that we can see that historical data proved in real life is through the 1969 Stonewall riots. The Stonewall riots were a time where patrons and employees of a gay bar fought back against inappropriate police harassment, which eventually led to the creation of Pride and the festivals and parades around it that celebrate queerness in an open and visible space. The Stonewall bar was initially only for gay men but was eventually opened to drag performers and women, as well as anyone the bouncer may have known personally. 

Iconic drag individuals like Marsha P. Johnson and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy took part in the Stonewall riots and should be credited with starting to bring queer visibility to the forefront and allowing people to have spaces to express themselves. It’s important to note though that, by modern definitions, individuals like Miss Major and Marsha P. Johnson are considered to be “transgender”. But that wasn’t a term that was used during the height of their visibility and protest; many of these individuals considered themselves to be ‘genderqueer’, or another derivative that basically states that they weren’t part of the gender binary.

These individuals and countless others, such as Sylvia Rivera and Stormé DeLarverie, risked their lives to fight back at Stonewall to give the queer community a place to exist. As a result, the United States has Pride and Pride parades every year as a way for the community to band together and express themselves, as well as honor the queer, trans, and non-binary icons that came before. What tends to get forgotten is the fact that many of the people to whom the queer community owe the ability to freely express themselves in America were trans and black. Though they may not have known it at the time, the starters of the Pride movement used their identities to subjugate the status quo and bring the visibility of an issue to the forefront. They would not rest until the wrongs of the Stonewall Riot were righted and their brothers, sisters, and non-binary members of the community had safe places to exist and celebrate.

Both trans identity and black identity are considered ‘negative’ traits in America, where the mainstream majority is white, straight, and cisgender. ‘Cisgender’ or ‘cis’ is defined as “of, relating to, or being a person whose gender identity corresponds with the sex the person had or was identified as having at birth”. Contemporarily, the trans identity has been brought to the forefront of societal identity discussions, most recently with Donald Trump’s White House’s “Transgender Memo”. This alleged memo, first published by The New York Times, will redefine gender in narrower terms to be “immutable” and “assigned male or female at birth”, unchangeable except for genetic testing (which determines sex, not gender); yet another attack by the administration against individuals who identify as trans.

Today, queer art and queer music as protest is more nebulous; artists and their music can be inextricably linked. Sometimes, the artist’s own existence can be a political statement. One example of this would be hip-hop artist Frank Ocean, who does not identify specifically as heterosexual. Ocean’s sexual orientation is hard to define because he has refuted queer community labels, but he penned a Tumblr post in 2012 that showed his first love was someone of the same gender. The hip-hop genre, for the most part, is not always the most understanding and accepting of artists who are not heterosexual; there are many instances of misogyny and homophobia within the hip-hop industry. For Frank Ocean to be black and queer in an industry where such things are not always accepted or sometimes mocked is another example of someone existing in a place where maybe they shouldn’t always be super visible. The hip-hop industry, though, has improved since Ocean penned his open letter Tumblr post, but it’s still not perfect. His own identity is a political statement in that sense, especially when artists are hurling around queer community-related slurs; among examples are Travis Scott who, in 2015, called a group of concertgoers on their phones “a bunch of queers” and “faggots” and Offset in 2018 writing a lyric that states simply, “I don’t vibe with queers”.

Janelle Monáe is another current example of a queer artist who embraces her sexuality and identity the context of a society that, for a while, was rooting against her. In a lead-up to her much anticipated 2018 album Dirty Computer, Monáe came out officially as pansexual. The album itself is an embrace of her own sexuality, as well as a way for people who feel outcast or marginalized to feel accepted, included. Monáe even describes the album’s title as a nod to embracing some of her negatively-viewed characteristics. For something to be “dirty”, a trait that society views as negative, is inspiring to Monáe because these ‘dirty computers’ still have aspects about them that are unique; and that’s something that should be embraced. 

‘Django Jane’, one of the lead singles from Dirty Computer, references a lot of what makes Monáe “dirty” to some. When describing the song, Monáe says that it was a response to the threats she was receiving for being a black, sexuality liberated, queer woman in America. Janelle Monáe grew up in Kansas City, Kansas to black, working-class parents. And as a queer woman, she knows that being black and queer is dangerous, and her rights can be taken away at any minute. 

She takes aim at a number of things in ‘Django Jane’. She immediately opens the fully-rapped song with a shot at male-dominated society, the patriarchy.

“Yeah, this is my palace, champagne in my chalice / I got it all covered like a wedding band / Wondaland, so my alias is Alice / And we gon’ start a motherfucking pussy riot / Or we gon’ have to put ‘em on a pussy diet / Look at that, I guarantee I got ‘em quiet / Look at that, I guarantee they all inspired.”

In her lyrical commentary for Genius, she writes about this opening section, stating that she’s telling men that women have it, let them create, let them be in power for once. She also makes reference to Pussy Riot, a protest punk band she loves from Moscow that has been jailed multiple times in their fights for the queer community and women’s rights.

Later in the track, she also talks about how black women should be honored, nominated, and respected for their contributions to culture. In the age of things like #OscarsSoWhite, having black artists (especially black women, in this case) being recognized for their work is important. Monáe’s second album, The ArchAndroid, features an entirely black cast of producers, engineers, writers, mixers, and so on.

“…Probably get a Emmy dedicated to the / Highly melanated / ArchAndroid orchestrated / Yeah, we highly melanated.”

She takes aim at her critics, too. In her early years, Janelle Monáe was known for a more gender-ambiguous approach to the stage, donning traditionally men’s clothes like a suit jacket with her iconic pompadour. That image is no longer the only thing she does, and she makes note of it. Early criticisms of Monáe used to say that her skin was too dark or that she looked “too” masculine and she wouldn’t get anywhere with that. 

“Remember when used to say I look too mannish?”

Other songs from Dirty Computer embrace a freer sexuality, especially Pynk and Make Me Feel, both of which featured consultations from the prince of free sexuality in music, Prince. Prince, like Monáe, was known for androgyny, gaining status as a sex symbol because of his tendency to poke at gender, defiance of racial stereotypes, and sexual ambiguity.

Janelle Monáe does not just have success with her music; she has also starred in other award-winning films like Moonlight and Hidden Figures – both notable, black-led films. While the leading cast of Moonlight does not currently identify as part of the queer community, it still has a direct connection to this topic, as it is a story focusing on gay and bisexual black men as they come of age and realize their sexuality and identity; unheard of in Hollywood until its release.. It’s not as many opportunities as white women or queer white women are getting, but Monáe is able to unabashedly be herself and still get and keep roles. Her intersecting identities are all considered to be negative traits in America, and she has embraced them to work to her advantage. It helps that society is generally trending towards more acceptance and protections for queer people, but that isn’t always the case, nor was it the case for Janelle Monáe. But she’s here now, in all her glory, using her identities to unify and affect change. 

For Monáe to be accepted by such a large fanbase – of artists and musicians, fans, those in the music industry, of fashion designers – shows that there is an act of protest hidden within the presentation of their identities and that she is subjugating the norm by making them visible.

Queer music as protest marks a cultural identity shift within the queer community itself – they want visibility and acceptance, no longer willing to stand by the sidelines. It helps when there are prominent queer individuals who can help spur a movement, but it can sometimes be invaluable to have visibility from a more mainstream artist.

Individuals like Lady Gaga use their voices to affect change within the queer community. Though a bisexual woman, that portion of Lady Gaga’s identity is not what made her famous and it was instead her talent and catchy songs (and her penchant for eye-turning fashion). But upon closer inspection, many of her songs have queer-related themes: Americano, Born This Way, and Poker Face, just to name three. Lady Gaga did not just advocate for marriage equality, trans rights, and other community-related legislation when it was convenient; she has repeatedly said that she respects and admires the queer community and knows that she would not have ‘made it’ without their help. Now that her bisexuality is out in the open, she has been using her visibility to start the Born This Way Foundation and just generally have the resources for helping less-fortunate queer individuals. She isn’t using her identity exclusively as protest and could thus be considered to be more in the “mainstream” which is why her allyship with the queer community is so important and has contributed to so much general visibility.

In short, the use of queer identity within the music industry has become synonymous with some form of protest to affect change, and it shows no signs of stopping. The rise of queer visibility and music during the progression of the 21st Century has also impacted a larger cultural shift that brings queer identity into a more visible mainstream area and allows it to be consumed by all. This rise and visibility has also impacted the passage of Marriage Equality in June 2015, discussions and consequences of the Colorado “Gay Wedding Cake” case and the Kim Davis denial of gay marriage certificate case, and widespread discussion and protest relating to transgender rights and protections, both societally and militarily. 

The movements for queer acceptance and protections continues to grow with each new Pride ceremony, and music is a big way for members of the community to bond together with a common goal or interest. Individuals like Frank Ocean, Janelle Monáe, and Lady Gaga are just three of numerous examples of the nebulousness that is the interaction between queer identity and music as protest. The combination of identity and music serves a larger purpose than just entertainment; it is a voice to affect change and mirror and strengthen cultural identities and larger cultural shifts in America.