If I Were You
After revisiting my relationship with Donna Summer in a recent essay, I have found myself thinking about the many brilliant women who have impacted the world of music that has, in so many ways, dominated my life – clubland.
One particularly artist has found her way to the front of my brain over and over these past few days. It’s probably because she played a significant role in my overall perception of the music and the people of the time. She also was the catalyst of a truly transformative evening.
It came during a sweltering predawn hour at the Sound Factory, the premiere dance venue in New York, if not the entire world. It was a Sunday during the summer of 1995. At roughly 4am, much of the city was asleep, but this warehouse-turned-nightclub was booming at peak energy, packed with sweaty bodies thriving and grinding under the rhythmic spell of turntable maestro Junior Vasquez. Word had been circulating all week prior that this was the night. It was finally going to happen.
Suddenly, every light in the room went black. The music stopped for what seemed like an eternity. A stunned silence gave way to the sound of one voice. It was familiar, but oddly new at the same time. And it offered a simple, yet powerful declaration…
“QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!”
In an instant the crowd erupted into cheers, and a tribal house beat began to pound. It washed over the bodies that had begun, once again, to jump and writhe. This time, the energy was different. It was joyful, but cathartic, with an undercurrent of prideful defiance. There were even a few tears shed. Who triggered this emotional explosion?
Much to everyone’s surprise, it was k.d. lang.
The exaltation of “queeeeen” was a portion of the lyric “if I were the queen of popularity” from the song “If I Were You,” a single from the album All You Can Eat. She was an undeniably unlikely, even puzzling source of such an event of emotional catharsis. After all, lang was a globally renowned country artist-turned-balladeer, best known for her Grammy winning 1992 smash “Constant Craving.”
Plus, though few will openly acknowledge it, the chasm of separatism between queer men and women was inexplicably wide. As a result, the notion of a powerful lesbian voice infiltrating a space dominated by gay dudes was unheard of back then. Ridiculous stereotypes of men as twirly girlies and women as brooding folkies was in full effect. It was an especially confounding and unfair generalization, given the heroic role that lesbians played during the peak years of battle against AIDS and HIV. But it was there, and it was rampant.
For generations, the queer male population has pledged allegiance to the enduring power of the diva; the larger-than-life, often heterosexual woman who is tough in the face of cheating lovers and a world that could be far too demanding. That same diva is unashamedly sexual and often flamboyant. She is a vision of perfection, but with a big heart. Our affinity with these women has always been strong. But there has always been a conspicuous gap between her and us. For the relationship to work, we must pretend to be her; and not merely in the superficial, glamorous sense. We must also pretend to be straight. We must convince ourselves that she really “gets” us. And we must find forgiveness for them – and for ourselves – when the diva reveals a personal truth that vastly differs with ours. Perhaps most notable is the revelation that the world of disco is littered with the broken hearts of fans who have discovered that many a booming-voiced church lady has held her nose and belted over a beat for a few bucks.
All of this made that hot summer night in 1995 a transcendent moment in time. In k.d. lang, we had a woman who was larger than life, with a big, luscious voice, wailing with passion over a beat… and she was one of US. She sang with the knowing tone of unique experience. She truly got it. And in that revelation, we opened our eyes, our minds, and most importantly, our hearts. We relished her vulnerability, her sensuality, and her conviction because there was a relatability and a communal connection that we had not felt before.
With “If I Were You,” lang did more than enhance the promotability of her work to the dance market. She made good on the promise of her previous club-focused remixes. In 1993, she flirted with punters wildly via versions of “Lifted by Love” that showed the versatility of the original composition from the soundtrack to the film “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.” In her studio partnership with producer Ben Gross, lang revealed an understanding of streetwise rhythm that she’d never shown before. It’s a vibrant version of a romantic song that unfolds with the subtle seduction of a first date, hinting at what was to come yet leaving you the tension of the unknown.
Her collaboration with Vasquez on “If I Were You” laid her emotional cards on the table. No more mystery. No more hiding in shadows of innuendo. Lang had evolved from delightfully confounding country music star to proudly queer pop icon. “If I Were You” was the opening salvo of the album All You Can Eat, a meditation on the connective point romantic love and primal sex. Gone were the layers of orchestration that swirled around Ingenue and “Constant Craving.” At the time, lang told me in interview for Billboard that she “wanted to lay herself bare in her music.”
She continued, “I want to capture that moment when euphoria and ecstasy, and anxiety collide in your mind – from the perspective of an openly queer person breathing the air around them without fear.”
It was a startlingly beautiful discovery of common ground for our community’s men and women. I don’t think I ever saw so many women join us lads on the dancefloor as I did during this period. It was exquisitely joyful. We were one.
From there, lang rode of a wave of adulation and relevance in the ‘90s era club world. She deftly moved between kingpins like Vasquez and Love to Infinity, and upstarts like DJ Krush and Bobby D’Ambrosio. She and Tony Maserati hit a compelling creative high with a version of the All You Can Eat song “Sexuality” that embodied the tension of a community of people who were reconciling the unyielding danger of AIDS with the human need for carnal contact. It stands as a vivid snapshot of a time populated with as many ghosts as survivors.
As the ‘90s unfurled, lang continued to innovate by carrying the baton for people who were grappling with issues of gender. The 1997 collection Drag seemed to offer a convergence of increasingly forbidden images of smoking. But the real danger was not in the drag of a cigarette, but rather in drag as a construct of the binary of him, her, and them. It was evidenced by sharp visions of lang as a suited man at one point, and then becoming the hyper-femme focal point of the camp classic “Theme from the Valley of the Dolls.” Once again, she enlisted Vasquez, who dressed her in rhythms that rumbled restlessly beneath the song’s melodic frills. And, once again, lang embodied the truth of the people who have evolved far beyond the cartoonish, genital-free gender-bending of the ‘80s into a brave new world of identity politics. Lang offered an anthem that gave voice and groove to the moment.
By 2000, and the resultant lang album Invincible Summer, she seemed to arrive at a place of wistful remembrance. Every warrior finds a point to simply exhale and assess the joys and pains and victories of their journey. “The Consequences of Falling” and “Summerfling” marked that era with gentler remixes that provided rose-colored glasses for the memories and sharp clarity for the road ahead.
Clubland was a complicated, sometimes deceptive environment during the ‘90s. On the surface, it had the carefree revelry of ‘70s disco, but it was deeply battle worn. AIDS had ravaged its ranks, while those who survived strived to find clarity and pride in their identity, whether it was race, gender, or sexuality. For many, it was all fun and games, until it suddenly wasn’t. One thing was certain, it was no longer enough to settle for facsimiles of who we were. We needed our truth amplified – wide-eyed and buoyant, but with humanity and an empathy that could only come from one of our own. For that decade, k.d. lang dared to tell the truth. Hers. And ours. As time progresses, she boldly continues to do so… and during that period, we learned to follow her lead and we now settle for nothing less.
However, even in this current age of sexual fluidity, as well as the widespread rejection of traditional gender binaries, varying degrees of separatism have returned. There is generational friction and angst, not to mention a frequent blind, disinterested eye to the historic milestones that provided the foundation for the freer expression and experimentation we all enjoy now. There is always fervent hope and even belief that better days and greater unity lie ahead.
But it sure is nice to recall a time when we all realized that there will always be room for everyone on the dancefloor.
Excellent read! I was lucky enough to live in Vancouver, Canada for three years in the late 80's to 90's. She was a rising star and a powerhouse. Once she broke into the USA, Canada was extremely proud to call her their own. They still are. She is an absolute treasure and you put into words exactly what she represents. Thank you!!
Another wonderful piece. Thanks for sharing .