This LGBTQIA+ History Month, GAY TIMES speaks to die-hard fans about how they found their biggest loves in life: Arsenal Women and their partners. 

WORDS AND EDITORIAL DIRECTION ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
ART DIRECTION JACK ROWE
PHOTOGRAPHER LYDIA GARNETT
PRODUCER OLIVIA WILKES
FEATURING DORY AND JULIA, ROBYN AND ABI, POPPY AND RUBY, CLARICE AND NORHAN
IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARSENAL FC

There’s something special about Emirates Stadium – the buzzing chatter and chants rippling through the crowds as waves of LGBTQIA+ football fans pile into their seats. Music roars from speakers. You can feel the anticipation of something captivating about to happen. Arsenal  Football Club is a place of community, camaraderie and togetherness. Whether you wear the kit or not, the matches are for everyone. So, what’s more special than attending an Arsenal match with your partner? 

Julia and Dory first met on the dating app Hinge. They were both drawn to one another through a love of football, music and Uniqlo. Julia, originally from Aberdeen, hadn’t grown up supporting Arsenal but found herself drawn to the club’s inclusivity when she moved to London. Similarly, Dory initially thought football was a “straight man’s game”, yet, despite the odds, their third date was an AWFC match.

Now, the couple regularly attend women’s matches for dates. “We went to an Arsenal Women’s match together as one of our first dates, and since then, a shared love of football has formed one of the foundations of our relationship,” Julia shares. Continuing, she explains how football games have become more than just a bonding space, but an environment to spark new connections with queer football heads. “We have formed friendships with each other’s friends and family by attending games with them and now enjoy going to matches in bigger groups. I play for South London Laces, a grassroots women’s and non-binary club based in South London, and Dory standing on the sidelines at our matches and cheering the team on has brought us even closer together.”

Julia and Dory

With women’s football becoming enriched with greater LGBTQIA+ representation, Julia and Dory are grateful to be seeing the game moving forward, with Arsenal playing a leading role in queer inclusion. “It’s wonderful to see so many queer and sapphic people enjoy a sport which has historically been closed off to this audience. The community is thriving both at matches and online, and it is great to see so many new fans get into the sport via supporting Arsenal and beginning to play football themselves.”

Arsenal Women’s growth is unprecedented. Founded in 1987 by former footballer Vic Akers, this trailblazing club is  38 years in the making, and its roots all lead back to one thing – community. Born out of Arsenal in the Community, which is celebrating its 40th birthday this year, AWFC first emerged as a programme to provide an inclusive, safe space for women, which soon evolved into ‘Arsenal Ladies’. Over 22 years, Akers led the club to an incredible 33 major trophies, notably earning AWFC’s first title, the Premier League Cup, in 1992. Since then, AWFC has been on an immeasurable journey, uniting players of all backgrounds on one pitch. Today, Pride flags flutter from pitch corners of Emirates Stadium, players don rainbow armbands, and the whole club celebrates Pride Month.

Clarice and Norhan

For football fans Clarice and Norhan, Arsenal games quickly became a meeting point for the two to grab a pint and spend quality time together. The couple first found each other four years ago at a lesbian club night, and their connection quickly grew.  Clarice, a lifetime Arsenal fan who grew up supporting and playing the game, introduced Norhan to the team – someone who had always been sporty but never had her own club. “We met at an Easter G.IRL event, as you do. Disguised in a 5,10 bunny with stiletto heels, and another in a Playboy mask. We can both agree that regardless of the masquerade party, even with our eyes closed, we would have found each other thanks to our heavenly energies,” they both explain. 

Since their first meeting, Norhan and Clarice have found comfort amongst LGBTQIA+ Arsenal fans. “Arsenal Women’s LGBTQIA+ fanbase is a safe space for all fans to be comfortable being who they are. Given that the Gay Gooners are the first and largest LGBTQIA+ football supporters group in England, it just goes to show that the fanbase is ever-growing and ever-supporting the community. It’s much more than football; being a fan means that we can all get together and inspire others to be strong individuals,” they share. “We both love the Arsenal women’s growing queer audience, as it diversifies the football culture. We have more of a safe space to voice opinions and extend the typical football culture. I believe that the growing queer football culture breaks old and unfashionable gender roles as it’s not only cis men watching football, it’s more inclusive, vibrant and free.”

Poppy and Ruby

Poppy and Ruby first met at The Bank of Friendship pub after the North London Derby last year. Introduced by mutual friends, the pair felt an immediate connection, empowered by their love for women’s football and Arsenal. Their passion for football has encouraged them to be more confident and open with their identities, embracing their authentic selves. “We love how women’s football is such a welcoming space for sapphic and queer people. It’s great to see so much visibility, and it definitely makes a difference in making everyone feel included in the stands,” they say. Together, the partners share a mutual love for the club and each other and spend weekends watching games and match analysis together. 

As for tips on how to get a girl (or a they/them) at the Emirates, Poppy and Ruby encourage you to be brave and strike up a casual conversation. “We would say start by making friends, shoot your shot and hope for the best… It’s great rejection therapy if anything! You’ll never know if you don’t try,” they say. “Arsenal Women are building a space where sapphic culture is embraced and celebrated. In a world where queer representation in sports is still catching up, Arsenal is setting the standard both on and off the pitch.”

Robyn and Abi

Football fan Robyn Gunn has two big loves: her girlfriend Abi and Arsenal FC. “Abi radiates such a warmth that anyone feels immediately at ease in her presence.  She is the kindest and most caring person as well, so that’s a massive bonus,” Robyn shares. A regular at Emirates Stadium, for her, nothing compares to an easygoing pitch-side date. “What an iconic location. Home to the best team in the world. The atmosphere on match day is unrivalled! Experiencing this on a date or with the love of your life is something to remember. And, you can’t beat a Willy’s Pie for halftime grub,” she says. 

Today, women’s football has grown to unprecedented levels. Arsenal Women’s audience continues to grow (bringing in an incredible 60,160 fans in attendance at one recent event). So, what can we learn from the romantic loves and queer friendships to be found at Emirates Stadium? Well, Robyn and Abi believe there’s some magic to be found in unfiltered queer love and expression: “There’s a huge community of people wanting to come together and enjoy the sport, meet friends, new loves and have fun. Naturally, the more we celebrate this, the more it will bleed through into other clubs.”

Get your tickets for the forthcoming Arsenal v Liverpool match, the penultimate Emirates WSL fixture, FYI, on Saturday, 22 March, here.

The post Pitch side dates: Sapphic couples on why they love Arsenal appeared first on GAY TIMES.

From underground queer raves in London to crafting new traditions in Shanghai, here’s how the Year of the Snake is being celebrated.

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
HEADER DESIGN BY YOSEF PHELAN

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 2024 AND HAS BEEN UPDATED IN-HOUSE.

Lunar New Year is upon us and it’s the year of the Snake. An annual 15-day cultural tradition, Lunar New Year marks the beginning of spring and the arrival of the new year. 

For many of us, celebrations centred around family and heritage can be a difficult time, whether it’s down to identity reasons or not, but that doesn’t always have to be the case. Togetherness – no matter what that looks like to you – can be found in ways that allow all aspects of your identity to feel seen.

So, to mark the Year of the Snake, we spoke to members of the LGBTQIA+ ESEA community – across London, Malaysia, Madrid and China – to hear how they unite cultural tradition and their queer identities as they get ready to celebrate the Lunar New Year.

Jojo, 32, who spends time across London and Malaysia, connects with her queerness and East Asian community through parties in the UK capital and underground queer events in Kuala Lumpur. “I try to attend queer community Lunar New Year parties in London such as GGI 끼 who are putting on a night with Eastern Margins. While I’m celebrating Lunar New Year in Malaysia, I’ve been able to attend local underground queer events,” she says. “Despite the limitations on the queer community in Malaysia, these experiences are some I’ll never forget.” 

The significance of coming together can be found in discreet raves (or punk parties in Jojo’s case), however, for London-based Bóxī, 32, Lunar New Year is all about reconnecting with the queer community and tradition. Lunar New Year has helped them “explore” what it means to be lesbian, non-binary and Asian-Australian. “I’ve found a queer Asian community who have made me feel able to merge those aspects of my identity,” they share. “This involves re-connecting with Lunar New Year traditions from my childhood, mostly around food, watching the CCTV New Year’s Gala, and spoiling the younger folks in my family with red bags, a tradition which symbolises luck and happiness, and gifts.”

Queerness has helped me learn more about my culture and, through it, I feel closer to my biological family and history

This year, for Year of the Snake, Bóxī – who is also part of the Baesianz community – has plans to amp up queer Lunar New Year celebrations with XX and hitting up a queer ESEA rave. “This year my partner and I are having our queer Asian community over for a vegan hotpot and mahjong,” they say. “Queerness has helped me learn more about my culture and, through it, I feel closer to my biological family and history, which has also been a special experience these past few years. Also, looking hot at an ESEA rave helps too.”

YZ, 23, currently lives in Madrid and, for her, Lunar New Year is all about killer red eyeliner and celebrating with food tied to her heritage. “I like to do New Year’s dinner together with as many of the traditional dishes as possible: dumplings, fish, and noodles,” she says. 

Outside of sharing dishes, YZ checks in with queer friends to ensure they’re able to feel acknowledged during celebrations. “Lunar New Year can be a very hard time for some of my queer friends who are less close with their families, so showing up for them that way is important to me,” she explains. “Growing up as a queer Chinese person, there was very little representation. I never got to see someone like me be accepted by their family. My queer joy is getting to see it in my own life and knowing that my parents support me regardless of my sexuality.”

Enema Stone, 25, is a singer and resident drag queen at Medusa in Shanghai. Lunar New Year can be difficult for Enema – “You have to turn it down a couple of notches” due to conservative attitudes — there is more snow than people in 双鸭山 (ShuangYaShan)” – but she has been able to find moments of queer joy and celebrate with the community. “Lunar New Year is really high camp – the costumes, the new clothes people are wearing, the hairdos, but the fireworks truly look like a music festival if you’re out of town. It’s really something you’ve never seen!”

Lunar New Year is really high camp – the costumes, the new clothes people are wearing, the hairdos, but the fireworks truly look like a music festival if you’re out of town. It’s really something you’ve never seen!

Similarly, for Sky, the co-founder and host of Medusa, he has found ways to make his heritage and queerness feel seen. “I hang out with my friends mostly, especially a lot of my trans and queer friends who don’t want to go back and deal with a lot of family pressures especially about dating, and all that,” he says. “I always like to have my own queer New Year at my house and celebrate it with my friends.”

Lunar New Year can be a hard time for those who feel unable to celebrate their queerness and may have to present more subtly, as Enema mentions earlier. The flux of presenting culturally and within your queerness can be an “emotional burden” for the ESEA community especially those that want to hold onto their roots as well as their queer identity.

You share your identity piece by piece with them. Many learn to love you for who you are and some just let it go

“Unfortunately, queerness is not exactly [seen as] a traditional value, and especially when you are spending a lot of time with a more conservative family, this is sort of your one chance a year to learn how to express yourself and let a little bit of your queerness out to them,” Sky explains. “You share your identity piece by piece with them. Many learn to love you for who you are and some just let it go.”

As Lunar New Year rolls around annually, LGBTQIA+ Asians have resiliently continued to find ways to celebrate both their heritage and queer identity. And for those in Shanghai, Enema offers an open invitation to celebrate Lunar New Year in the queerest of ways: “For all the girls who stay in Shanghai, you got to find someone who can cook, and have your own little dinner, and have a chosen family get-together, especially for my trans friends,” she says.”

The post How the queer, ESEA community is celebrating Lunar New Year appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Pretend to like films to entrap Hinge matches? You’d better be taking notes.  

WORDS ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

Across reboots, reimaginings and remakes, everything in movie-land feels…kind of familiar. From the million Marvel movies to the musical adaptations that we didn’t need (yes, we’re on about Mean Girls – even if we do stan Reneé Rapp as gay Regina George), we’re getting a serious case of cinema déjà-vu. 

The only bright spot? Queer (or queer-adjacent) big-hitters like Drive Away Dolls, Love Lies Bleeding, Monica, Passages and Challengers which have lit up cinema screens with raunchy humour, abundant family drama, disastrous polycules and, er, homoeroetic churros. And, as it turns out, this year’s BFI London Film Festival is the perfect place to find gay, queer and trans stories to banish the bad movie blues. To mark its 68th edition, LFF is pulling out all the stops for LGBTQIA+ film-lovers: from a Bollywood romance with a twist, to a Eurovision-style sapphic saga and an outstanding exploration of sex work and self-discovery. 

Below, we share five incredible queer films to impress everyone – from your best mate that was big on film Tumblr, to your ex that’s a niche Letterboxd influencer, or your Hinge match who keeps suggesting you “Mubi and chill”. Keep reading to find out the future-classic LFF movies to look out for. 

A NICE INDIAN BOY  

Roshan Sethi’s A Nice Indian Boy is all about “the bigness of love” – a line Jay (Jonathan Groff) uses in the movie’s opening. And if there’s one thing about Bollywood romances, it’s that they are grand, passionate and can stir even the coldest of hearts. Adapted from the original play written by Madhuri Shaker, A Nice Indian Boy opens us up to romance in all its shades – family, friendships and, of course, relationships. (It’s no surprise that weddings hold a big place in this new wave Indian rom-com)

A Nice Indian Boy is heartfelt and joyful, but there’s a complication in this sweet boy-meets-boy love story too. Jay, a white foster child adopted by Indian parents, tries to fit into Naveen’s (Karan Soni) life. They start dating after a meet-cute at a Hindu temple, get on seamlessly and even get engaged. But, as things quickly progress, can Naveen bring his family on board to love a “white orphan artist” while fully accepting his own identity at the same time? 

Sethi pulls off Bollywood drama with a queer twist that everyone can relate to. If Naveen and Jay teach us anything, it’s that a strong foundation of love (or impromptu bursts of song) and trust can overcome almost anything. 

EMILIA PÉREZ

This award-winning, Mexico-set, gangster movie-musical (yes, that’s a lot of words) is a story as complex and tender as it is bolshy. The plot follows Rita (Zoe Saldaña), an unfulfilled lawyer, who unexpectedly crosses paths with a trans cartel boss Emilia Pérez (Karla Sofía Gascón) seeking out gender-affirming treatment. Willing to fake her own death, Emilia bargains with Rita and offers an opportunity that would change both of their lives forever. However, as Emilia’s wife, Jessi (Selena Gomez), becomes swept up in the situation, the movie transforms into an empowering lesson on three women fighting for their own happiness. 

Emilia Pérez is poignant, beautifully shot and could land Gascón in the history books. The actress and her co-stars (Zoe Saldaña, Selena Gomez, and Adriana Paz) already jointly hold the Best Actress prize after the film showed at Cannes Film Festival. However, if nominated at the Academy Awards, Gascón would be the first openly trans person to receive the honour. 

QUEER

Now we’ve just about got the electronic thrumming of the Challengers soundtrack out of our heads, Luca Guadagnino and Justin Kuritzkes are back with Queer.

It’s true, most of us will have seen the Daniel Craig memes and internet talk surrounding Queer – but what is it actually about? Well, it’s an erotic love story taking place in 1940s Mexico City and an adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ semi-autobiographical novel of the same which will see Daniel Craig’s William Lee, an American expat, become involved with a mysterious younger man. 

It sounds good on paper but it’s even better IRL thanks to eccentric characters, sensual storytelling and an immersive score (by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross) that beautifully pairs with Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s stunning cinematography. You can count us in.  

SEBASTIAN

Sebastian follows the life of Max, a 25-year-old London-based writer working on his debut novel about, you guessed it, a sex worker called ‘Sebastian’. However, when  inspiration doesn’t strike, he seeks out a solution: sex, as a way to get closer to art. So, in the name of literary research, he arranges to meet men through an escort platform around London. 

A frank and compelling coming-of-age story, Sebastian challenges outdated notions of sex work. The film’s director, Mikko Mäkelä, has spoken out about his desire to destigmatise sex work on screen. “I really wanted to make a film that just approaches sex work in a much more positive way, in a sex positive way,” he says. 

QUEENS OF DRAMA

Alexis Langlois’s debut film, Queens Of Drama, sounds like sapphic fanfiction fantasy come to life – and that’s exactly why you should go see it. It’s a nostalgic, queer romance packed with trashy pop tunes, and campy glittercore aesthetics (imagine Eurovision, but even more gay) that playfully unpacks the weight of queer pop fandom, fame and the consequences of a public fallout. 

The ambitious French-language flick follows the intense love affair between lesbian punk icon Billie Kohler (Gio Ventura) and pop star Mimi Madamour (Louiza Aura) as they cross paths at a TV talent contest in 2005. From there, Queens of Drama delves into Billie and Mimi’s complex realities, a decade-spanning romance and an unforgiving music industry. Come for the lesbian drama, stay for the song about fisting.

The 68th BFI London Film Festival takes place from 9th-20th October in London and across the UK. Tickets are available to buy now. You can find more information at bfi.org.uk/lff. 

The post Hi gay! Here’s 5 must-watch queer films to catch at LFF appeared first on GAY TIMES.

The rising musician finds his feet on a debut album which explores ‘losing the breakup’ and creative misdirections turned good.

Words by Zoya Raza-Sheikh

If you’ve listened to his music, it will come as no surprise that Dhruv Sharma is a Pisces. Known mononymously as Dhruv to his fans, the singer-songwriter crafts compellingly introspective pop and gained attention for earworm ‘double take’ at the dawn of TikTok music virality in 2021. Since then, he’s further proved his water sign credentials with delicate songs exploring memory, nostalgia and an acute awareness of his internal emotional temperature.

Originally hailing from London, the British-Indian musician moved to Singapore at the age of two and recalls an eclectic musical initiation which spanned Hindi-language songs from Bollywood movies, chart-topping pop and British ballads from the likes of Adele and Amy Winehouse. Early on, his taste in tunes spanned continents – perhaps giving rise to his international appeal, which has seen the artist chart in the Philippines, Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore.

When he talks to GAY TIMES, the 25-year-old artist is on the precipice of a major milestone in his creative journey: the release of his debut album Private Blizzard. Honest and vulnerable – single ‘Speed of Light’ explores the feeling of having ‘lost’ a breakup – it marks a major evolution for the artist, and his most stirring work to date.

Below, we catch up with the singer-songwriter to go deep on the new album, discuss his formative musical memories and to hear about the queer artists who shaped him.

How are you today – what have you been up to?

I flew into London this morning from New York. I spent like half the day sleeping and half the day catching up on the work I missed while I was sleeping. So, overall, a wash of a day. It’s 11pm and I’m probably going to be up for a while because of the jet lag.

Not ideal! So, onto the music. Since making your breakthrough in 21, what have you learned about yourself?

I’ve learned to trust my intuition more. This job can be a mind fuck and sometimes the “rational choice” isn’t the best one – I’ve had to learn that the hard way. I’ve also become better at separating my self-worth from commercial performance. After my song ‘double take’ went viral in 2021, I felt like I had to create some big statement song that recaptured the success of it. For a few months I was consumed with this idea and made shit music that I hated. I’ve definitely come back to a place of making things because I love them, even if no one else does, and that’s where I want to be forever.

Your style is eclectic, blending different sonic influences into a cohesive sound. What music did you grow up listening to?

My parents are from India and they mostly listened to Hindi songs from Bollywood movies. I absorbed a lot of that. At the same time, I was obsessed with the music I’d hear on the radio in the taxis in Singapore, where I grew up. It was a lot of mainstream pop but there were also songs like ‘Back to Black’ and ‘Chasing Pavements’, which remain two of my favourite songs to this day. I feel really nostalgic for that era of British soul music in the 2000s.

You have a huge international audience – what do you think makes people connect with your music?

I’m not sure. I only write songs from personal experience and I think listeners can feel when something is real and when it isn’t.

Who are the LGBTQIA+ artists that inspire you most and why?

I will always have a soft spot for Troye Sivan’s music. His album Blue Neighbourhood felt like a true friend when I was closeted in high school. I’ve loved all of his records since, especially his In A Dream EP.

What’s your favourite music memory?

Playing shows in India last summer. Most of my extended family live there and I never really imagined a world in which they would get to see me play. My grandmother, who is 90, came to my Delhi gig and brought all of her friends which was really cute. It was surreal to play a sold-out show and then to go home and sleep in the bedroom I spent a lot of my childhood in.

Can you tell us more about your debut album, Private Blizzard?

The contrast of the words “private” and “blizzard” is a good indication of what it’s going to sound like. It’s intimate and vulnerable but sonically very big. Lots of instruments. I made it in Nashville, which is famously called ‘music city”, and we had a group of really phenomenal live musicians play on every song on the album.

What did the creative process for this album look like?

I wrote a lot of it outside of the studio and workshopped the lyrics in coffee shops, libraries and train stations. The process spanned different cities, too: New York, London, Singapore and Nashville. My main collaborator, JT, would then help me refine it in the studio and would hone in on the production details.

What is something you learned to embrace while making the album?

The uninspired moments. There’s nothing linear about making an album and at some point in the process I stopped beating myself up for having an unproductive day. I just kept persisting with it and reasoned that it was all a part of the process of creating. Wrong turns eventually lead to right turns.

What’s the meaning behind your song ‘Speed of Light’?

‘Speed of Light’ is about feeling like you ‘lost’ the break up. It’s watching an ex quickly move on and wondering whether they really cared about you as much as they said they did.

Lastly, what are your big plans after the album?

I’m opening for Jordan Rakei in Europe. Then, I’m heading on my own solo run in the US and Asia at the top of next year.  A deluxe Private Blizzard could be in the works or maybe even a new album entirely. I’m trying to keep an open mind.

Private Blizzard is out now on RCA Records.

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The iconic musician sits down with GAY TIMES to discuss finding queer wisdom with age, the joy of “when things fall apart and get put back together” and Gossip’s new album, Real Power. 

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
IMAGES BY CODY CRITCHELOE 

We all like a bit of gossip, but nobody quite enjoys a heartfelt conversation like Beth Ditto. “If you ever need anything, you let me know!” she quips over the phone, holed up on a tour bus in Germany.

It’s been quite a comeback summer for the dance-punk trio Gossip (vocalist Beth Ditto, instrumentalist Nathan Howdeshell and drummer Hannah Blilie). Following the release of their new album, Real Power, the Arkansas band have been making the most of their reunion, zipping around Europe and the UK on non-stop tour dates. After all, a 12-year hiatus will leave you feeling more than spirited to be back on the stage. 

While it’s been over a decade, the band’s signature style of causing a ruckus is still, truly, intact. Real Power lives entirely by its title – it’s a heavy hitter. Ditto’s gutsy vocals punch away at heavy topics: divorce, death, isolation and friendship. Yet, while Ditto charges head-on at them, rebellious and armed with something to say. Sure you’re thwacked by a bubbly mesh of disco tunes, dance-floor pop and some classic punk influences. But, ultimately, it’s heart and well-meaning lessons that greet you at the core of this record. 

Real Power emulates a familiar feeling to ‘Standing In The Way of Control’ – the band’s urgent, iconic single penned in response to a proposed US Federal Marriage Amendment which would have outlawed same-sex marriage. This latest album surfaced in light of Black Lives Matter protests occurring near Ditto’s home in Portland. The political stirrings fed into a solo project that was already on the go. Ditto had enlisted the help of industry mogul Rick Rubin, before calling upon her Gossip bandmates for support. 

Now, with Real Power out and the band hitting the road, GAY TIMES caught up with Ditto 

Hi Beth! Congrats on the new album and the non-stop summer tour. How have things been going lately? 

You know, the older I get, the more space I need. Now, I sleep all day until it’s time to do my makeup and then I’m awake all night. That never makes sense because you never know what time you’re gonna be playing festivals. It’s a lot to get your body acclimated. I’m usually trying to find places in the day to just be quiet. 

You’ve slipped back into a touring routine and have a packed schedule. What’s one life lesson you’ve learned along the way?

I’ve known Nathan [Howdeshell] for so long and we’ve all gone through really crazy changes, traumas, and a lot of joy. We’re the same as when we were kids and when we play music together. As far as music goes, you’re not doing surgery. We both really like mistakes, we like when things fall apart and get put back together. At a certain age, you really learn who your core friends are and who you can trust.

Your new album Real Power is a vibrant, subversive dance-punk project. It’s arrived at a time when LGBTQIA+ identities are continually being persecuted in the US. The album feels like a reminder of what we can do, as a community, when we reunite and realign. Would you agree? 

No matter what what community you come from, you share the same traumas, timelines, language and experience. It’s not always going to be tit for tat but it gives you empathy into what someone else is going through. My assistant was talking one day about why some people don’t have empathy, how it’s because they don’t have imagination. In order to have empathy, you have to know what it’s like to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. I think that’s really true.

Music is so pertinent to social progress especially when we consider how it can drive activism or empower subcultures. So, I have to ask about a classic – ‘Standing In The Way of Control’, which catapulted the band’s career and connected to so many as a queer anthem. What music helped your own political awakening? 

Growing up working class, fat, and seeing the way that my mom worked so hard for so little, I really never understood it. Hearing my mom’s words got me into counterculture and subculture because I started to read about different kinds of activists. A very important piece of the puzzle was grunge. Nirvana brought so much information from the underground into pop culture. Sonic Youth were talking about The Raincoats and Melvins were talking about Fugazi to huge magazines or in interviews for MTV. That was a game-changer for pop culture. 

Nirvana spread so much information to kids, about how there were different ways to look and different ways to be in a band. [Cobain] wanted the cheerleaders in the ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ video to be fat. It was the director who talked him out of it because people didn’t understand it and thought Cobain was being funny. No, he was being a fat activist and he was talking about body image. That got downplayed a lot but, for people who connected to it, it was valuable.

Gossip signed to Sony’s subsidiary label, Music With a Twist in 2007. Even now, some articles refer to it as a “gay record label”. Did being part of an LGBTQIA+ specific label at that time feel like making a statement or was it something that felt fitting to you and the band?  

We were on Kill Rock Stars and K Records before that. Music With a Twist was better. It was very gay, not very queer. Everyone was nice enough but it wasn’t set up for success. 

I was just talking to Jake Shears about this. He’s basically from Seattle, we know a lot of the same people, and came up in a very similar scene. I think it’s very interesting, especially as this is a gay interview – you know what you’re talking about! Jake and I were discussing when he spoke to Elton John for an interview. Jake was saying we didn’t do rainbow flags, we didn’t do Pride, we didn’t do the [pink] triangle – we didn’t do that shit. It wasn’t cool or part of the aesthetic and Elton was surprised. There was a gay mainstream and then the rest of us. It was a subculture of a subculture. It’s so interesting how, now, everyone is flying a flag.

Many of us do fly the flag – literally or figuratively – and that helps create this cross-generational sense of community. As an LGBTQIA+ musician, how significant is it to drive home a powerful message in your music?

I know exactly what you mean. I don’t think an overt message is necessary for queer music. The answer that comes to mind is that when you make a record as a queer person, every love song is a queer love song. I always take it back to when you find out when [artists are queer] after they come out of the closet later in life. You hear these songs that they wrote and realise how much differently it sounds knowing that they were speaking from a queer perspective. It could literally be a song about doing the dishes, but it’s still a queer experience! No matter what the record is explicitly trying to say, or what it is trying to, it doesn’t mean it’s going to be the same for every person, but it’s still a queer song, and those things mean so much. 

Lastly, Gossip have won a number of awards from Alternative Music Album of the Year, to NME honouring you on their famous ‘Cool List’. If you could have any award in the world, what would it be? 

Best aunty! I love it. 

Gossip kickstart the UK leg of their tour in September and perform at All Points East on Sunday 25 August

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Whether it’s a popped-up collar, a clean V-neck cut or a boxy boyfriend fit, there’s gender euphoria to be found in football shirts. 

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
IN COLLABORATION WITH VERSUS
HEADER DESIGN BY JACK ROWE

Growing up, men’s football was all over the telly. My older brother was a massive Manchester United fan and would watch every game he could, sometimes I’d even watch with him. I loved seeing the players beeline across the pitch, socks pulled up over their calves, sweat-soaked shirts hugging their chests. I would examine their bodies and think: “Why don’t football shirts look like that on me?”

Gender isn’t easy to figure out. The world we live in primarily operates in a binary manner. Men, women. Straight, gay. They’re still very much considered the default – even more so in football, a sport that’s deeply rooted in old-school views of masculinity. So, it might seem odd that football shirts have provided me with an avenue to experiment with my own gender. Or is it? 

Back then, watching those games with my brother, I didn’t quite know how to describe the feelings I felt as I sat captivated by the slick movements of Louis Saha, Wayne Rooney and Paul Scholes. But now, I’d call it gender envy. There’s no right way when it comes to figuring out your identity and where you fit in a world obsessed with labelling people as simply one thing or another. But for some reason, football shirts have always helped me on my gender journey. 

Shirts have become a core part of my gender expression – I feel more at ease with who I am when I wear them. They provide me with a level of comfort and breathability, both literally and metaphorically. It might seem somewhat trivial, distilling something so big as gender into a brightly-coloured 80s-inspired football shirt. But often it’s the small, everyday things that help us to make sense of the emotions we’ve struggled for so long to engage with – let alone make sense of. 

There’s an unquestionable euphoria in football fashion. Whether you want to call it ‘blokecore’ or ‘ladcore’, the revival of retro kits undoubtedly pulls on iconic British fashion that flooded the streets and terraces throughout the 80s and 90s. Today, both football die-hards and casual matchgoers are experimenting with kits – something we’ve also seen bleed onto the catwalk in recent years (will there ever be a better collaboration than Wales Bonner x Jamaica?). And while the blokecore trend might feel gendered, the style isn’t. It’s a lens of fashion that has been an escape, a place where I can find synergy between my outward presentation and internal feelings. 

Finding sanctity in football shirts was an unexpected port of call, one that caught me by surprise, even as a long-time football fan. Yet I can’t shake the gender-affirming sense of self I find wearing my beige Barcelona 2004-05 shirt. As your identity shifts – whether it’s labels, pronouns, or something bigger – there’s a want to create cohesiveness in how you feel and fashion is the easiest way to signify who you are. From pairing oversized baggy blue-wash denim jeans with a bright yellow 2010-13 Arsenal away number, to matching chunky silver rings with my crisp white Real Madrid top. In football shirts, for me at least, there’s no immediate call to dress femme, instead, you can play around with presentation. This level of openness has given me the freedom to pick and choose what feels best. A feeling I’ve not always experienced in either my surroundings or myself. 

How the Women’s Super League became the pinnacle of UK sapphic culture

As a South Asian baby masc, I’m used to comments of all kinds: ones to do with race, gender, sexuality, you name it. You learn to acclimatise (not always quickly) to the soft racism or how your eyebrow slit, thin silver chain or vocal joy for Chappell Roan can make people feel a bit uncomfortable. “It’s a bit much”, I’ve been told. The level of prejudice – and sometimes even abuse – I’ve experienced over the years for trying to feel at home in my own skin, is perhaps why I’ve never watched a men’s football match in person. 

We’ve all seen and heard stories about how homophobic and racist the men’s game is. Watching Manchester United’s first team with my brother might have been my football entry point but it’s the women’s game that’s welcomed me for who I am. I’ve found women’s football to be a space that’s more inclusive of diverse identities than most – I’d even go so far as to say that I’ve found a community. Being queer in women’s football, both for the players and the fans, isn’t the exception; if anything it’s celebrated. The camaraderie of the women’s game feels more like home for me because I don’t experience the same level of interrogation for wearing my oversized “men’s” shirts and gender-fluid fits.

Many of us spend years following our favourite players from club to club as they evolve with their teams. And while I can’t pull off striking Ballon d’Or-worthy shots like Aitana Bonmatí, I can empathise with growing through motions of change. In a way, through shirts, I do the same. 

Each one brings a different feeling – a sense of home and comfort for a different reason. Sometimes it’s an affirming colour choice or even a modest boxy cut that brings an unexplained feeling of ease for me. Football traditionally hasn’t been a space welcoming of people like me – those who don’t conform to gender norms. So, perhaps there’s some irony in me gaining as much comfort in shirts as I do. But if they help me get to grips with this beast called gender, then it looks like I’ll need to make more space in my wardrobe. 

You can read Zoya’s article on gender and football fashion at Versus here. 

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First-time novelist Oisín McKenna discusses his heartfelt vignettes of London, queer love and Millenial life

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVID EVANS

As I type this, it’s unusually warm in London – a setting that feels apt for Oisín McKenna’s glorious debut novel Evenings and Weekends, a strikingly beautiful portrayal of friendship, queerness, and relationships in the city. Within this captivating Sally Rooney-style novel, the Irish author walks us through the complex, tangled-up lives of four main characters: Maggie, Ed, Callum and Phil, who each harbour secrets, feelings and longing for something greater in this bustling, late-capitalist British urban landscape. 

And while Evenings and Weekends could easily be described as a love letter to the capital, it’s not always a healthy relationship and, instead, feels variously toxic and one-sided. Drawing out striking vignettes of murky orange horizons bending under the heat of summer, McKenna traps you in an immersive description of the city: from the cloying humidity of the commute, to the animated post-office atmosphere, to the black mould spread across the walls of a rented flat. Undercutting the characters’ personal autonomy is the financial burden of living in a city where the cost of living shoehorns and stifles personal freedom and autonomy – whether in work or love. 

GAY TIMES speaks to McKenna about the inspirations behind his characters, what modern-day love means to him and what he learned from writing Evenings and Weekends. 

I thoroughly loved Evenings and Weekends and it got me thinking, if you had to make a playlist to represent this book, which songs and artists would you include?

Thank you! I think of it as quite a trance-inflected soundtrack. DJ Sammy’s ‘Boys of Summer’ is the song that best captures the mood of the book, I think. Or ‘Better Off Alone’ [by Alice Deejay] or ‘For An Angel’ [by Paul van Dyk]. Basically big, euphoric, sad dance tracks that used to get played in teenage discos in the 2000s. Also some contemporary pop by the likes of Sophie or Charli XCX, karaoke classics by Cher and ABBA, and plenty of Lana del Rey. 

Evenings and Weekends is an incredible debut novel. It’s intricate, complicated and reflective of how messy real life and relationships can be. How did you get under the skin of each character and creatively craft their perspective?

It was different for different characters. Some characters, like Maggie and Phil, are similar to me and my friends in lots of obvious ways, and their perspectives and opinions are similar to mine. Other characters, like Ed or Rosaleen, outwardly have very different lives from mine. With those characters, I started by finding points of commonalities between our perspectives and working from there. Rosaleen, for example, is an Irish migrant, is quite shy and ill at ease in her body, and in those ways, is like me, which was helpful for getting into her mind.

Your book examines the consequences and outcomes of love, lust and romance in London. We hear a lot about relationships that emerge out of nowhere, some on apps, others IRL and by accident. What are your feelings about the state of modern love? 

I’m not sure. I’m in a very lovely relationship, and I have friends and family who I love, and I’m lucky that my life is not short of love. It’s not that this isn’t fraught or complicated, but the complications of the love in my life don’t feel strictly related to its modernity.

Dating apps, and social media more generally, have often had a pretty disastrous impact on my happiness and peace of mind, and I try to limit my use of them. Many people obviously have a difficult, tedious, tiring time trying to find love or sex or romance or companionship through apps, but lack the resources or broader social context to meet potential partners in person, which I know can create a painful impasse for those who really desire the sense of security that can come with having a partner, particularly if they feel precarious in many aspects of their life. 

There’s a beauty in how you portray the business and eccentricity of urban life in London — it’s buzzing, sweltering in stuffy heat and can go any which way. What did you enjoy most about writing and portraying these vignettes of the city? 

These are some of my favourite passages. They’re intended to be propulsive, and led by rhythm, and capturing the way the rhythms of a person’s internal emotional life interact with the rhythms of the city was very pleasing to me. 

What are the queer hotspots you gravitate to in London?

I’ve got pretty varied tastes. Sometimes I go to the gay part of Walthamstow Marshes, sometimes I go to Adonis, I like 2CPerrea. I love Central Station, the gay bar near King’s Cross station. It’s quite old school and has really fun karaoke every Friday and Saturday. There are some bars I love which definitely aren’t queer bars but which queers often end up at. Lots of nice queers live around Haringey and South Tottenham and hang out in pubs around there – Mannion’s in Seven Sisters, The Langham Club on Green Lanes, KK McCool’s on West Green Road. 

You choose to set Evenings and Weekends in the blistering heat of London. Having grown up in Drogheda, Ireland, did you bring in any inspiration from your home town?

There are things in the book loosely inspired by my upbringing there. Lots of the book is about moving from small places to big places, also about the psychological damage caused by growing up queer in homophobic contexts – certainly, a lot of that stuff was inspired by my upbringing. 

A lot of this book is about seeing one another — in our pain, heartbreak and complexities — what advice would you share for those navigating their own layered Evenings and Weekends–style lives? 

Probably to be generous, gracious, and open-minded in how you think about others, and how you think about yourself. 

There’s a thoughtful moment where Ed ruminates on the best day of his life. What’s yours?

There’s no one day that straightforwardly stands out as the best one because of any big, remarkable event. Most of my happiest days were probably days on which nothing particularly remarkable happened, which may have even passed in a sort of forgettable way. 

Lastly, what did writing Evenings and Weekends teach you? 

It took a long time to write, and for most of that process, I felt quite certain that it was never going to work. There were glimmers of promise, but it needed so much work and felt completely insurmountable. Every project feels like that at a certain point. The lesson I try to take from writing Evenings and Weekends is to stay calm in those moments of disillusionment and remind myself that I’ve been here before. 

Evenings and Weekends by Oisín McKenna is published by 4th Estate and is available now.

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Lebanon-born graphic designer, writer and visual artist Marwan Kaabour discusses his debut book which playfully maps out the dynamic lexicon of the LGBTQIA+ Arab community.  

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

It’s not always safe to step into the world of queerness. Often, we wonder how our identities will be received, even just by being ourselves. And, sometimes, we don’t even have the means – the labels or terms – to express who we really are. We craft new words to bridge the gap between the words on our tongue and the identity we hold inside of us – and that is exactly what writer Marwan Kaabour addresses in his new book, The Queer Arab Glossary. 

Historically, we have found ways to stay connected: bold flags denoting different identities, coloured hankies as a covert way of flagging sexual preferences, and, of course, speech. The queer community has resiliently regularly created its own language, out of necessity, and The Queer Arab Glossary explores this journey in the Arabic-speaking world. 

A collection of LGBTQIA+ slang and idioms in different Arabic dialects, Kaabour’s project brings together a community of Arab voices — writers, artists, academics, and activists — to contribute to this thoroughly curated guide, where they explore the unique, humorous, and tongue-in-cheek aspects of queer Arab slang.

GAY TIMES spoke to Kaabour about how slang serves marginalised communities, the creative design of his debut book, and wants readers to learn from their journey into queer Arab lexicon.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity. 

Where did the inspiration for The Queer Arab Glossary come from?

The book is the first realised project to come out of Takweer, the [Instagram] platform I launched in 2019 that explores queer narratives in Arab history and popular culture. Takweer became a broad church of the queer Arab community, which represents the different communities, geographies, and cultures that form the “Arab World”. One of the main defining factors of being “Arab” is speaking Arabic. Despite the fact that all Arabs learn “standard Arabic” in school, very few of us actually use it in practice, but rather communicate in dialect. Arabic dialects vary massively from one part of the region to another. As Takweer and its audience grew, I began receiving messages from followers who spoke different dialects, and would use queer slang that I was sometimes familiar with, but often not. That triggered a curiosity to learn more about queer Arab slang, and soon enough I was organising hundreds of entries into a sprawling spreadsheet.

What is your favourite excerpt from your book and why?

The book is divided into two parts: The glossary and the essays. One of my favourite glossary entries comes from the Maghrebi (North Africa) section, and it’s Qaysou-l-ma’, which translates to “has been touched by water”. It implies that effeminate men have been “touched by water” which is the reason why they move in a fluid and swaying manner, or due to their “loose” mannerisms. Despite it being a slur, I found the analogy quite beautiful as it paints a picture of queer people as being singled out for being special enough to be “baptised” by (queer) water. 

The eight essays in the second half of the book are all brilliant, but one detail I particularly love comes from researcher and writer Sophie Chamas’s essay, in which Sophie seems to be rallying the masses for a queer revolution:

“The glossary seems to say, we are deviants, but aren’t we all? If bottoming is deviance, if gender play is deviance, if effeminacy is deviance if promiscuity is deviance…? And if all of these things are also joy, are also pleasure, are also exhilaration, which is at the root of their being framed as immoral, as sinful, as evil…? If their being labelled deviant is an injunction to control oneself, to deprive oneself…? Then more power to the deviant”

The glossary hones in on dialects and essays as its focus. What drew you to those specific functions of language? 

I think there’s a parallelism to be drawn between language, dialects and slang on one side and queerness on the other. They are both notions that escape limitation or strict definition and are in a constant state of flux. Their meaning evolves over time and is constantly challenged. 

Slang and dialect are also ways for marginalised communities to innovate methods to speak about their own particular experience. Sometimes the linguistic tools that we inherit do not allow us to accurately speak about that experience, so we invent our own tools. Throughout history, different groups of people who operate outside of the mainstream have done this, in a similar way Polari has in Britain. 

When it comes to the Arabic-speaking world, dialects vary massively from one region to another, and they don’t always abide by political borders. Each dialect is representative of the social, cultural and political context of that specific area, and so it becomes a window to better understand it. When it came to compiling The Queer Arab Glossary, sectioning the book by dialect rather than country seemed to be the most natural way.

As for the essays, they serve as a way to situate and contextualise the glossary and larger themes of language, slang and queerness within today’s world. The diverse area of expertise of each contributor allows the book to be expanded on in a multiplicity of directions, leaving the reader with a lot of illuminations, questions, and hopefully further curiosity. 

What purpose do you hope this glossary will serve the LGBTQIA+ community?

I hope that The Queer Arab Glossary has an impact on multiple fronts. Accessible literature around the queer Arab experience has been historically limited to academic papers, gossip magazines, or relegated to footnotes. I hope my book can help populate the discourse and inspire additional contributions. Such references help queer people attain a sense of belonging. 

I hope that this book can debunk the ludicrous myth, peddled by conservative elements of Arab society, of queerness being a Western import, while also debunking the other claim adopted by right-wing elements of the West that insinuates that Arab people are innately homophobic and are incapable of embracing queer people.

Finally, I would like to present this book as a challenge to Eurocentric queer discourse. For far too long we have adopted the singular Western way of going about queer liberation, attaining rights for our community, or even the way we express and manifest our queerness. This book shows a radically different form of queerness, and all queer people, not just Arabs, can learn from it. I hope this opens the doors for more similar contributions from the Global South. 

As a designer, can you share more about the significance of the illustrations in the book?

Over the last 15 years, I have designed over 20 books, from museum catalogues to cookbooks, artist books, and even The Rihanna Book [a 2019 visual autobiography of Rihanna, commissioned by Phaidon and Fenty]. Designing books is like writing a story or composing a song. You learn how to build the narrative and introduce elements of rhythm, tone, contrast, drama, harmony, etc. When I envisioned The Queer Arab Glossary, I immediately knew it needed to be illustrated, and for this, I knew I had to work with the brilliant Palestinian illustrator and tattoo artist Haitham Haddad, whose work I have been obsessed with for years. The idea was to visualise the personalities that the entries refer to, in an attempt to turn the toxicity that is embedded into a lot of these words into joy. We wanted to populate the queer Arab imaginary with queer mythological creatures, who are at ease with their sense of self. It is my hope that when a young queer kid picks up the book, they are able to see themselves in these characters and know that they too can feel that same joy.

We wanted to populate the queer Arab imaginary with queer mythological creatures, who are at ease with their sense of self

The glossary summarises a range of terms and personal essays from contributors. For you, how would you describe the feeling of completing your contribution (edits) to the book?

It’s a complex feeling. I was definitely overjoyed and proud that I was able to complete this ambitious project, but it was a long time coming and a long labour. By the time it was time to go to print, I was ready to let go. But nothing compares to the feeling of receiving that first advance copy. For a couple of months, I was carrying around the book like it’s my firstborn, proudly showing it off to friends. Now that the book is out in the world, it belongs to everyone, and there’s such beauty in that. I am able to learn so much about my own work via the reflections of those who engage with it, it gives the project an entire new lifespan. I am just at the beginning of this journey, but already gaging to see where it will take me!

Do you have a Pride message for our audience?

I ask everyone to reflect on their understanding of what it is to be queer. What’s the point of op-eds and pride marches, of diverse marketing campaigns and elected queer officials, when our trans kin are being bullied by governments, or when Palestinians are seen as disposable flesh? What are we fighting for exactly? As queer people, we need to be on the forefront of these battles, and not to get complacent. My message for the queer community is to go back to the revolutionary role of our movement that aims to uphold the humanity of all and secure liberation for all.

The Queer Arab Glossary by Marwan Kaabour, published by Saqi Books, is out now.

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Singer-songwriter Kehlani talks finding gender euphoria on and off the stage, defiantly speaking her mind and her full-throttle new album, CRASH.

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

There’s a collision on the cover art of CRASH: a shattering of expectations, as Kehlani – donning black and gold six-inch thin strap heels and a glittering spiky silver two-piece – poses atop a totalled blood red car. Her return is striking, two years after her third studio album, Blue Water. Gone are moments of moss-covered beach rocks, the pools of salty seawater and the murky, earthy gradients of the ocean view. The tranquillity of the past has ebbed away and, instead, an explosion of emotion has come careening in. Her thighs are wrapped in aluminium-coloured car-like shrapnel which fans out at her feet in flame-shaped cutouts. Yet, her jet-black hair, now shorter and with blonde highlights, is perfectly fixed. CRASH is a metaphor and real-life visual of Kehlani’s private world: a transformative intimate space of glamour, deconstruction and self-reckoning. 

On the surface, the musician’s fourth studio album hits like a sideswipe. It’s flashy and immense as you find yourself flailing through bouts of experimentation, steering between syrupy notes on ‘GrooveTheory’ to revelling in the sultry excess of ‘Sucia’ (which features Jill Scott & Young Miko). It’s forceful and uncompromising, in no small part thanks to the atmosphere of freedom garnered from days surfing and reconnecting with close family. It was the puzzle pieces of her life she, selectively, wanted to share. More often than not, the singer-songwriter shies away from the public – quipping that she “hates being famous” and the celebrity shtick of LA over Zoom – but CRASH is the opposite. It’s red hot, freewheeling and souped-up on queer desire. She reaffirms how we see her: sometimes an aspirational sharp suit-wearing Gladys Bentley, sometimes a gender-fluid internet meme of “Fominic Dyke”. 

The arrival of a new record is a reintroduction, and Kehlani’s was intentional. She ditches the easily affixed R&B label and seeks out the thrumming hum of Las Vegas, the folksy twang of country and even steps into psych-rock just for the feel of it. She shelves the idea of a self-titled release and, instead, wades deep into a time when her life flipped upside down after being diagnosed with bipolar disorder. “The switch was realising that CRASH was this internal tale of my experience. I’m bipolar and only found that out recently and started my journey with my psychiatrist,” she says. “There were so many moments where it was clearly like ‘this is a high, this is a low’ and it was my mental journey and the album playing tag with each other, revealing things.”

As for now, the musician has dropped tour dates and she’s ready to share her outwardly queerest album with the masses. She’s standing for what feels right, rather than what people expect from her – and that’s the spirit of CRASH. It’s about feeling the full-throttle rush and walking away, hair strewn with broken glass, knowing you’ve come out the other side. Here, for her GAY TIMES’ cover story, Kehlani opens up about her Saturn Return-influenced album, becoming an outspoken voice for the LGBTQIA+ community and why she loves messing around with gender norms. 

Kehlani, congrats on the album release. How are you doing?

I’m good. I just announced my tour so I’m excited. I have this funny habit of not making myself too aware of the actual details of things so that I can be shocked when they happen. I saw the capacity for some of the venues today which was really cool because I can’t believe I’m playing these shows. 

You started working on CRASH last July in what you’ve described as the “perfect surfy summer”. How did the atmosphere and freedom of that time set you up, creatively, for this album?

That time allowed me to just have more fun. Life had gotten a little serious. When I first started the album, I had moved back to my hometown. I had decided to be a domestic family person and I was really just locked in that kind of life – I had lost all kinds of being whimsically creative. Being able to go from surfing to making music really popped the cherry of taking life less seriously, and everybody was having a lot of fun. I think you can hear the fun in the album.

What made you want to trade the serenity of surfing waves for the motif of a smashed-up car?

Things started shifting in this really fast-paced emotional space, it very quickly went from sweet and surfy to charged-up and energetic. That’s where my mental health was at the time, and we were making this album in a bunch of different places.

You’ve regularly had a closeness with the R&B genre label. On this record, you deviate from that and experiment across sounds. You also worked with different producers and moved around while making the album (San Diego, LA, New York). How did these environments sonically leave an imprint on the album?

I was really blessed to have so many incredible collaborators. Everybody came together to push all of their own buttons and it didn’t feel like I had to force anyone to be excited and try things.

We really were hanging out every day and breaking down this very Los Angeles studio version of making music. We just really cracked that code and were making songs in houses. We would wake up together, make music all day, hang out, go to a bar, come back and make more music, then sleep and do it again. It became this melting pot and everybody was just down to try whatever with each other.

Did you have a specific music eureka moment in a location that really resonated with you?  

We went to Vegas and I realised I hadn’t captured that desert part of Vegas, I hadn’t captured that sultry, sexy feeling and that’s how ‘Sucia’ came about. We were just sitting in the living room and I wanted to hear a snake rattle, and desert wind and needed a western guitar that sounded like I was stepping out and putting my boot in the saloon. We made the beat and the song that day. That was a good moment because we realised Vegas encapsulated all the worlds that we were talking about. 

As a musician, you’ve experienced a lot of change in recent years. You’re also someone who embraces astrology and has spoken about the impact of going through a Saturn Return. What experiences have been the most formative in helping shape your art? 

Saturn Return flips your life upside down. It really changes everything and it gives you the tools to continue afterwards. Making an album in the middle of it, I feel like there are no obvious themes [of Saturn Return] lyrically on there but, energetically and sonically, [the album] felt like the flip that my life has made. It felt like the mess, the chaos and the redemption I’ve been processing for the last two years.

What led you to name the album CRASH rather than rolling out a self-titled project like many fans were expecting?

To be honest, it felt too chaotic to be my self-titled album. I feel like subtitled albums are a little more traditional. This wasn’t my moment to explain what makes me or to sonically do that. I was just trying some shit and I really wanted to pivot and not make the same album over and over again.

CRASH is your fourth album and it’s been almost four years since you came out as lesbian. Do you feel like there’s been an alignment there, between yourself, your life experiences and your music? 

I learned more and there was a more obvious throughline with how the album came out and with engaging with people about it afterwards. I felt like I was really trapped in my own little world when I was making this album. Then, I started to put out music during a genocide – I took the stances I take in the world, which started overtaking everything. 

Your album rollout was intertwined with fundraising efforts to provide humanitarian aid in Palestine, Sudan, and Congo, with merch for your single ‘Next 2 U’ raising $555,000. Were you concerned about how your political stance would be received while putting out an album? 

I wasn’t, I was more concerned with people thinking it was performative because that was not my intention. It was very clear for me to understand people know I’m dropping an album and I can’t stop it. I can’t [stop] putting it out right now. People are watching me for music videos and music.

I knew what I was going to do. I want to have an initiative which is raising money with a Palestinian company and a Palestinian designer. I was going to have to draw massive attention to it and cause a fucking shit storm to get the initiative in order to raise the funds

I knew what I was going to do. I want to have an initiative which is raising money with a Palestinian company and a Palestinian designer. I was going to have to draw massive attention to it and cause a fucking shit storm to get the initiative in order to raise the funds. I knew people would be like, what the fuck does this song have to do with Palestine? Saying ‘you’re just putting on a kufiya and waving around flags – what the fuck does have to do anything?’ I knew I was gonna have to just take that hit to the chin, but as long as we raised the money that we raised, that was all my concern.

Speaking of breaking the status quo, we’re also seeing a lot of LGBTQIA+ musicians speak out about political matters. We’re also seeing the same names – Chappell Roan, Reneé Rapp, Arlo Parks, Billie Eilish – become part of a new sapphic renaissance, a culture shift you’re also a part of. Why do you think queer women are having a moment right now? 

I think we’re honestly coming into this anti-patriarchal [moment] where a lot more people are prevailing who don’t necessarily appeal to the male gaze. That’s really fucking cool because there has always been queerness in music. It’s really special to see so many people who ride the gender lines or disrupt gender binaries, especially those who are masculine-presenting, be representative of queer music. When I’m dolled up, I don’t look like this [more masculine presenting]. This is my day-to-day. Typically, I look a little different than I look when I do my job. 

Do you enjoy being able to flit between the gender fluidity of your presentation, on and off the stage? 

Oh yeah, it fucks people up, that’s why I enjoy it – it’s hysterical! When I first got my hair dyed the other day, I happened to have a wife beater on and I posted a video of my hair dyed and everybody was ‘who the fuck are you, Paul Walker?’ They were like, who is this handsome person? So many people were saying ‘you’re so handsome’ and it was kind of doing it for me!

I enjoy being in my own energy and what that looks like is just knowing that it’s what is most true for me.

I enjoy being in my own energy and what that looks like is just knowing that it’s what is most true for me. It does confuse people all the time and it’s like whatever part of me they’re attached to, they freak out when it leans to the other [gendered] side. Just knowing that I find a home in that helps them to know there’s no pressure to align in any kind of way. You can fluidly have any journey that you want. I love how much it pisses people off, personally.

Does your gender expression really bother people?

I think [people] just want you to be palatable in whatever way is appropriate to consume you. I don’t get shocked at their reactions anymore because I know what I’m up against. I know my audience has had to follow me through a lot of changes in this life. So, there are some people who are simply stuck at another level of me from five years ago. If I were to get my short hair one day, have a fake moustache the next day or have a floor-length wig and my titties mostly out, you’re just gonna have to deal with it.

You’ve spoken about setting and achieving personal goals, including retiring your mum, getting a good school for your daughter, and not having to worry about housing. How have your personal ambitions steered you when it comes to speaking out about your background, queerness or identity?

It might be toxic positivity but I really try to count my blessings and praise God as much as possible. Life is short, I’m not participating in anybody’s rat race. I’m not playing by anybody’s rules or anybody’s delusions in any way, shape or form. I’m honestly here to do the things that make me really happy and, hopefully, it makes other people happy along the way – that’s what’s grounding and what I keep coming back to. It’s taking care of the people that you love and influencing people that are paying attention to you in a correct and positive way.

When you tour you get to bring that ethos along with you too… 

It’s the only time as an artist that you get poured into. You’re pouring out the rest of the time. The entire time you’re putting out music, you’re telling your story, you’re doing interviews and telling your business, and you’re putting your life on display. Touring is one of the only times you get to see that love you put out in the world come back to you.

As for what’s next, you’ve regularly been asked about reaching the “next level”, whether that’s fame, success or becoming a bigger name in this industry. What’s your next priority? 

I’m dropping an R&B mixtape. I started working on it a week and a half ago: I wanted to make some songs, put them out and perform them. I’m gonna love it and fans are gonna love it and it’s gonna be a good time.

I’m gonna be real. I don’t wanna get to another level. I don’t like being famous. I don’t like talking about my business. I don’t like having to grow up in front of everyone. I don’t like having to take my lessons in front of everyone. I don’t like doing anything except the music part, really, that’s why nobody sees me anywhere. I don’t go to stuff. I get invited to a lot of stuff and I don’t go to it. A long time ago, I came to terms with separating other people’s projections of what they thought my career should look like from what I actually wanted.

I’m gonna be real. I don’t wanna get to another level. I don’t like being famous. I don’t like talking about my business. I don’t like having to grow up in front of everyone. I don’t like having to take my lessons in front of everyone

A lot of people use the word ‘flop’ or say ‘you’re this kind of artist, you could be here’ but has anyone ever stopped to consider that I’ve carefully designed my life around prioritising how I want this shit to feel? I’m with those people [major celebrities] sometimes and it really doesn’t seem like that feels good. I want to have fun with this shit for the rest of my life. I don’t want to be a superstar.

CRASH is out now via Atlantic.

The post “I don’t want to be a superstar”: Kehlani hates being famous – but loves fucking with gender norms appeared first on GAY TIMES.

The Sydney-based artist on his ethereal new pop single ‘Shooting Star’ and his rise as a next-wave Aussie musician.

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

We’re in the middle of summer and we’re all still feeling the rush from Troye Sivan’s third studio album Something to Give Each Other, a hot sticky boy pop record that’s never left our playlists. A year later, Sivan’s mega camp moment has stuck around in our queer orbit. Now, the artist has used his platform to bring attention to a new Aussie star that everyone needs to know about – Nick Ward.

Based in Sydney, Ward has writing credits on Sivan’s latest full-length project and, more recently, announced his highly anticipated debut album, House With The Blue Door, a project which follows Wards’ two previous EPs. The upcoming release explores themes including childhood, family, religion, trauma, growing up queer. Ahead of the project coming out, the singer-songwriter released ‘Shooting Star’ — a heartfelt track exploring what it means to have self-confidence and self-worth, notably crediting his mother for her unwavering support to him. 

So, as Ward sets up for the milestone release of his first record, GAY TIMES sat down with the musician to hear more about his creative process, the queer artists on his radar and more.

Hey Nick! How are you – what have you’ve been up to today?

I’ve actually been at home sick for the couple days. I haven’t left my bed this morning.

We love your singles ‘Shooting Star’ and ‘Gimme’. How did those songs come about?

Thank you! Both those songs came together really quickly. The songs that you get the most excited about usually come together that way. I made ‘Gimme’ with my friend Gab Strum and Shooting Star with my friends FRIDAY* and SOLLYY. I think they both came together in an afternoon. I don’t think anyone was seated while making either of those songs.

Brand New You came out in 2022, how have you grown as a musician since then?

I’ve learned so much since. I don’t really listen to stuff once it’s been released, but on the occasion where I hear any of those old songs – I really hear the path towards this new album. Over the course of those EPs I became a lot more confident in myself as an artist. I think confidence is the only thing that will actually make a difference to your music. It doesn’t matter if you get better gear or learn the guitar better if you don’t feel like you can take a big swing. I’ve also learned a lot about structuring music and ‘pop’ as a format rather than a sound.

For your Brand New You EP you described feeling like you were “cut in two”. What’s the driving emotion/feeling behind your new project?

Without giving away too much, the new project is about DNA and family, and the memories from childhood that stay with us when we get older. Even though it feels very hyper-specific to my life, I think a lot of people my age will relate to the feeling of coming to terms with your own childhood. 

Over the recent year, which musicians have you been taking inspiration from and why?

To be honest, I don’t really listen to much new music. I keep tabs on some things but I mostly just listen to stuff from the past. From the things I’ve been keeping up to date with, I really love the new Porches tracks. Each of his records have a really distinct palette, so it’s been interesting hearing where he’s taken this new record. I think Bickle’s also constantly fresh and exciting. Nilüfer Yanya is awesome. Panda Bear is one of my favourite artists ever. My favourite album of the year is the Vampire Weekend record I think. I’m just rattling off names now. I guess the truest answer would be my friends in Sydney who I make music with.  

Queer & Now is about spotlighting rising stars in the LGBTQIA+ community. Who has been on your radar?

For a very long time, I’ve believed that Dylan Atlantis will change many people’s lives. 

Can you give us some insight into how you create music –what does your process look like?

I have a studio in my old bedroom where I make all my music. I often start a writing day by working on my Eurorack synth or chopping samples – the feeling of reacting or working against something is a lot more inspiring than a blank slate. I have a sample library I’ve been building for a few years that comes in handy when I’m working remotely. I’m usually making instrumental music 80% of the time.

What would your dream collaboration look like?

I’m not sure. There are a few heroes that I’d love to work with but whether or not we’d be compatible as collaborators is another story. I’m doing a lot more traveling this year so I’m excited to be meeting more people.

 What’s a surprising fact most listeners wouldn’t expect to know about you?

That I can’t drive and probably won’t learn. To be honest, that’s probably not a surprise.

Lastly, we can’t wait to hear what you’ve got coming next. What are your big music plans?

We’re doing our first-ever UK and Europe shows in August, which I’m stoked about. I have a lot more music in the vault that I’m excited to share. Other than that…you’ll just have to wait and see.

Nick Wards’ debut album House With The Blue Door is out on 4 October. 

The post Nick Ward is Troye Sivan’s favourite new artist appeared first on GAY TIMES.