Jackie Shane Pride Celebration

As a graduate student, I’ve had the chance to work with a lot of neat organizations, my favorite of which has been a partnership with Jefferson Street Sound Museum (JSSM). Lorenzo Washington, their founder, was friends with legendary Jackie Shane leading up to her passing and we wanted to collaborate to do something really fantastic for Pride to honor her life.

Another part of graduate life has been fellowships and scholarships. I was fortunate to be a Curb Public Scholar at Vanderbilt, which comes with a $2,000 budget to implement some kind of public-facing piece of scholarship. I was able to leverage this budget to equip JSSM to host the first annual Jackie Shane Pride Celebration.

This was an absolute blast to plan and host and, most importantly, could not have happened without the generosity of volunteers, friends, and our planning committee.

As I wrap up my time in academia, it is fulfilling to get to put on an event that raises awareness for such a fantastic artist (read more about Jackie Shane’s story in this post), work with an awesome local museum, and create a space for queer folks to unite and celebrate during Pride.

Jackie Shane: Transgender Soul Music Pioneer

Born and raised in North Nashville, Jackie was 7-years-old when she came out to her mom as transgender. As she grew up, she performed in the local clubs on Jefferson Street—Nashville’s original Music Row—wearing clothes that fit her persona: sequins, jewelry, beautiful wigs, and fantastic makeup. Being a transgender person and a Black person in the South, Jackie faced serious oppression from transphobia and the Jim Crow era.

In 1959, Shane escaped her oppression by joining a traveling circus in Ontario, Canada. Jackie later joined Frank Motley and his Motley Crew (yes, Crew not Crue) who had a regular spot at a local night club. Their fame grew and Jackie became their lead singer as they traveled the Chitlin Circuit.

In 1965, Jackie Shane performed “Walking the Dog”, a Rufus Thomas cover, on WLAC-TV’s famous show called NightTrain. She was invited to perform on the Ed Sullivan show, but since they required her to present as a man, she declined. Jackie continued to be misgendered at concerts, in reporting, and by those around her throughout her life. Despite the undoubted frustration and hurt this must have caused, Jackie turned to her music and kept up the pep.

Shane’s songs reflected her own life, with celebration not shame. She sung about living conditions in New York with “In My Tenement”, looking for love as a transgender woman with “Chickadee”, and facing her critics down in “Sticks and Stones”. Her single 1967 re-released single “Any Other Way” sounds like a modern LGBTQ anthem:

“Tell her that I am happy

Tell her that I am gay

Tell her I wouldn't have it

Any other way”

Her clever play on words still ring true.

Then, at the height of her career, Jackie Shane disappeared.

There were rumors that she’d been stabbed to death. That she’d been lost to suicide. That she’d moved back to Nashville. That she was hiding out somewhere in New York.

What was the truth?

We’ll never know the details of Jackie Shane’s life from the 1970s through the 2010s.

What is known?

In the 1990s, Jackie Shane moved to Los Angeles so she could take care of her mother who had fallen ill. She moved back to Nashville some time after her mother’s death in 1996.

There are stories of folks who got a hold of Jackie’s number in Nashville—and were promptly hung up on whenever they called. Even old bandmates seem to have lost track of her.

Here and there, Jackie would open up for a phone call or a conversation. In 2017, Jackie Shane met Lorenzo Washington and visited his museum, Jefferson Street Sound Museum, which is dedicated to the preservation of Nashville’s Black music history. Lorenzo and Jackie developed a close friendship and she trusted him to get her groceries and take her on outings. Lorenzo recalled one time they shopped until they nearly dropped at a department store and Jackie bought classic Jackie things: bold, gold jewelry, a faux fur coat, and fun shoes. It was Lorenzo who, when she didn’t pick up the phone, went to Jackie’s house to find that she had passed away in her sleep.

Before her death, Jackie’s music was rediscovered by the public and she was nominate for a Grammy in the category of Best Historic Rhythm and Blues Record. She had begun giving occasional interviews about what it was like to be trans in the South in the 50s and 60s and about her musical career. Currently, Janelle Monaé owns the rights to Jackie’s life story as a dramatic film and Netflix is collaborating with a team of Canadian documentary makers to bring Jackie’s story to a screen near you soon.

During her time, Jackie Shane was compared to Little Richard and David Bowie for her sonic innovation, clever song topics, and overall style. Now, you can hear her influence in popular music from, yes, Janelle Monaé but also Yola (compare Jackie’s “Comin’ Down” to Yola’s “Stand For Myself”) and Sam Smith (the emotional tone and melodic deliberation of “Any Other Way” feels like Smith’s “Love Me More”). Do yourself a favor and listen to some Jackie Shane, baby.

A benediction from Jackie:

“I’m going to be all Jackie. That’s all I can be,” Shane said in a 2018 interview.

May we each be all ourselves, for that’s all we can be. Amen!

How Mickey Guyton Is Changing The Country Music Industry

When you hear the phrase “country musician,” who do you envision?

Do you hear a Southern drawl? Do you see boots or a big hat? Where do you think they’re from?

Is he a burly guy with traditional values and a beer in hand? Is she a scantily clad songstress with a shiny guitar?

Perhaps most importantly, what color is their skin?

You’ll be in good company if up until that question, you’d envisioned someone white. The world of country music is one of the most historically white-washed genres, despite the consistent, undeniable contributions of Black musicians whose music can easily be called “country” but historically been described as “folk.” Let me speak some truth here: the line between these two genres is an invention of white supremacy in the United States by music industry. What started as a decision by marketers to label music by white and Black folks differently evolved to create the foundation of the exclusion of Black musicians from the country music industry. This isn’t to say that there aren’t musical differences linked to cultural differences —who can deny the rich history of spirituals and hip hop?! (I’ll save my thoughts on appreciation vs. appropriation, covers and musical influence another day. We do not have space or time for that right now). The point here is that the history of marketing, production, and distribution of music is hugely influenced by the historical (and persistent-in-present-day) racism in America. The entire Morgan Wallen horror is just one little glimpse into this.

The sonic color line, as Jennifer Lynn Stover calls it, is hearable wherever you use your ears: in code -switching, in the denigration of AAVE (which is very much a valid form of language), in radio broadcasting, in how we describe someone’s voice, volume, and diction. There have always been artists who break through the sonic color line and expose the line’s very existence to us. Artists who break the barrier today, just as in history, are subject to all kinds of heightened critique of their music as well as racialized hatred directed toward their person by listeners who believe they are an unwelcome intruder into a genre or style. The occasional Darius Ruckers and Lil Nas Xs of the country music scene serve as the exceptions that prove the rule. Now if, from an intersectional perspective, we add gender into the picture, you can start to imagine the kind of ground-breaking, sonic-color-line-crossing incredible song work that Mickey Guyton is doing.

Mickey Guyton is a heavy hitter as a writer and a singer. Her song “Black Like Me” is a much-needed anthem for the current times. While the music industry is still struggling to give parity to female musicians, Guyton is facing racism from said women-empowerers. Nevertheless, she persists.

She rises! She’s Grammy freakin’ nominated! Mickey Guyton is the first Black female solo artist to ever be nominated in a country category. And on top of that, she used her Grammy nomination as a platform to boost the visibility of other Black women in country music. I mean. C’mon. One more thing: she’s 37and kicking ass. I cannot begin to tell you how many female musicians I know who have had their dreams squashed by men (and women) who were told they were too old to make it. How can you not support her?!

I’ve found her music to be an incredible balance of production and authenticity, rawness and refinement, humor and honesty, judgment and joy. She sings stories of the hardship of being Black in a white supremecist country, trying to figure out how to raise a child (Guyton welcomed her first this year!). She sings stories about womanhood and looking for love.

Mickey continues to uplift other Black women who sing in and about the South, the good and the bad and the in-between, including dope blues queen Adia Victoria, who is our featured artist for the second installment of Song and Social Change at Vanderbilt! Take a few minutes to listen to my favorite tracks from her EP, “Black Like Me” and “Rosé.”

xo

em