Emo Night at the Stonewall Inn
On being a gay punk and finding validation at the birthplace of Pride
The other week I had drinks at the Stonewall Inn; they played pop-punk the entire time I was there.
I’ll circle back around to that in a bit, but what a hook, right?
I feel like I’ve always been longing for an identity, for someplace where I unambiguously fit in or some niche I could call my own. I reckon this comes from growing up closeted in an insular fundamentalist religion where I was forced to conform, was always hiding a part of myself, and never really felt like I fit in; regardless, the result is that for most of my life I’ve tried to turn every new interest into my entire personality, my trademark calling card, a roadmap to my future. In elementary school I was (or at least wanted to be) the artist; in middle school I was (briefly) the kid who wore a bucket hat all the time; in high school I declared myself the King of Anime, despite having only watched probably 6 series at the time. I’ve tried to be the writer, the critic, the crossfitter, the guy who goes to shows. My boyfriend has said that he thinks of me as the guy with a denim jacket, but that’s only because he’s never been to a Menzingers show.
The truth is that I’m all of those things, for better or for worse. There are still some days when I just wanna be known for something, and to be honest I’ll probably always be searching for my “thing” even when I already have dozens of “things,” but most of the time now I’m satisfied to be the sum of my parts. In the future people probably won’t remember any of my writing or that I saw the Wonder Years play 8 times this year, but they hopefully will remember that I made them laugh or feel comfortable, that I was a good friend. “I choose my company by the beating of their hearts, not the swelling of their heads” are still words to live by, even if the man who wrote those lyrics couldn’t live up to them himself.
That doesn’t mean that there’s not sometimes friction between my various “things.” For example, my sexuality and my taste in music have always felt at odds.
I know, that’s mostly my insecurity talking. I have plenty of queer friends who are into punk (hell, my boyfriend loves metal). This newest wave of emo, punk, and indie is bursting to the seams with up-and-coming queer bands like Proper, Camp Trash, Future Teens, Teenage Halloween, Save Face, and Bad Moves, and queer musicians have always been a part of the scene, from Hüsker Dü’s Bob Mould1 to Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, from Texas is the Reason’s Norman Brannon to the Promise Ring’s Jason Gnewikow, to bands like Limp Wrist and Pansy Division. There’s a rich heritage of queer music in the scene, if you know where to look.
Yet, pop-punk and emo are still best known as scenes that revolve around the feelings of white, straight, cisgendered men, with anybody else fighting to the death for a very limited number of seats at the table. The gay community, meanwhile, are rightfully known for their love of pop stars and divas, but that’s never been my thing.
That can, understandably, be a touchy subject to bring up. Any gay man who complains about being “expected” to like a certain kind of music just because they’re gay will pretty quickly be accused of holding onto some internalized homophobia, and that’s often not wrong; there’s a whole subset of gay guys who have begrudgingly accepted being gay but still hold quite a bit of contempt in their hearts when it comes to the concepts of Drag Queens or pop music or camp, all while being completely oblivious to how those concepts helped win them the freedom to be openly gay at all.
I swear I’m not one of those gays. I’ve done my research and learned my history. I bought a copy of Kelly Clarkson’s Breakaway at a Best Buy in 2006; I can certainly rock out to a Carly Rae track or something like Brittany Spears’ “Toxic” when the mood strikes. The older I’ve gotten, the more I understand what people see in ABBA or Fleetwood Mac. I had a blast last month at a gay bar in Rehoboth Beach I stumbled upon watching Pamala Stanley perform old standards. I get it. I begrudge no one their love for it. But it’s also not mine. I was the outcast kid who found salvation in punk rock, and that’s always going to be the music that speaks to me deep in my heart. But when I’m among the queer community at large, that can sometimes feel really isolating.
Fun fact: my first kiss was to a Selena song, but I didn’t know at the time, which led to me feeling pretty stupid later when another guy brought it up. Later that same night I wound up at a bar where the rich gay guy who was kinda sorta keeping an eye on me2 was putting all our favorite musicians on the stereo but wouldn’t play me any Saves the Day (and I didn't even want him to because I knew it wouldn't fit the vibe, but it still stung to be asked then dismissed!). It's been so awkward whenever a gay friend brings up a popular song and my only point of reference is a punk cover of it. I once played a game of skribbl with a healthy mix of my punk friends and my gay friends and there were several puzzles missed because they just did not get each other’s references. I’ve never had anybody be openly malicious to me because I’m a gay guy who loves punk, but my gay peers and I often don’t share the same points of reference, and that’s certainly made me feel alone, different, or left out before.
I’m sure if I dug more into the “gay music canon” (for lack of a better term) I’d find plenty to appreciate, but I could just as easily Uno Reverse that; despite being largely made by straight white cis men, there’s so much for a queer person to appreciate in the world of punk, pop punk, and/or emo. What are all those songs about friendship if not anthems about found family? Punk has always been music by and for outsiders, and I think every single queer person has felt like an outsider at some point in their life.
A few weeks ago I took some time off work to follow a couple of my favorite bands (Philadelphia’s own The Wonder Years supporting their tremendous new record The Hum Goes On Forever, and Michigan Bad Boys Fireworks playing their first shows in 7 years) from Philadelphia to New York City to Baltimore. These two bands, despite being made up of a combined 12 straight cis white guys3 (albeit pretty vocal and sincere allies), have always been bands whose lyrics and ethos have resonated with me so strongly as a gay man.
Take the Fireworks track “The Wild Bunch.” “We all grew up weird enough/to laugh at how we used to be”? That’s every gay person who survived their youth, who now revels in their weirdness rather than trying to hide it. More to the point, there’s the end of the bridge:
“At least now, I know that what I have/
Was built by the people I love/
You wish you loved anything, the way I love my friends/
Now we’re moving glaciers/
I hope this ever ends”
That, my friends, is a gay anthem, and they’re words that have resonated with me especially strongly since I’ve essentially left everybody I knew as a young man behind to create a new, better, more authentic life for myself with people who love me for who I am, rather than who they wanted me to be.
The Wonder Years, meanwhile, have always been a band that have eschewed traditional love or break-up songs in favor of writing about surviving depression, trying to help your friends, loss, finding your home, and inter-generational trauma, all subjects that speak to my experiences as a gay man. My favorite Wonder Years song, “I Wanted So Badly To Be Brave,” is about breaking the cycles of abuse and toxic masculinity, being the hero you always believed you could be rather than the asshole molded in your father’s image. New track “Summer Clothes” is an earnest ballad whose romantic chorus is directed at a male friend of the narrator, a song about finding the places and people that allow you to be yourself. “The Devil in My Bloodstream” drops the lyric “I know how it feels to be/at war with a world that never loved me,” and I’m sorry Dan, but the gays have co-opted that lyric. It’s ours. It’s about us.
Following these bands up and down the Northeast felt like completing a pilgrimage. Yet, we haven’t even talked about my visit to the Gay Mecca itself.
The Stonewall Inn is the gay bar. Now a Historic Landmark, Stonewall was the site of the 1969 riots that launched the modern day Gay Rights Movement and the Pride Celebrations that now occur across the country every June. When I saw it pop up on my Google Maps screen as I aimlessly Citi-Biked across Greenwich Village I dropped everything, changed my plans, and made a beeline for the bar. I couldn’t be so close and not stop in to pay my respects and grab a drink.
Visiting Stonewall ended up being a highlight of my vacation. The weight of that history, history so vital to the life I’m proud to be living today, was immediately apparent, but it was also just a really fun, welcoming bar that served a great Whiskey Sour. That alone would have been enough to make my visit a highlight, but what elevated it to an hour of my life that I will never forget was the music they played.
I don’t know what music I was expecting to be playing at Stonewall, but it wasn’t this. I would’ve guessed dance music, maybe Lady Gaga, but I never would have, in a million years, guessed that I would hear New Found Glory, Jimmy Eat World, or motherfucking “Fat Lip” by Sum 41 at Stonewall. It left me a bit gobsmacked, to be honest. I rarely get to hear music I love in public as it is, but to hear music I love played at the Stonewall Inn of all places felt positively surreal. This was a glitch, right?
I asked the bartender who picked out the music, and he told me that it was a playlist he and another bartender put together, and that they always play pop punk during Happy Hour. He went on to tell me about a patron who came in one day and asked him to “play something more gay.” “Like what?” the bartender asked him. “Are you saying gay people can’t like rock music?” The patron shut right up.
That brief conversation has really stuck with me in the days and weeks since. I’ve always known, on an intellectual level, that plenty of queer people love the same music I do. But it’s different to walk into the most significant, best known gay bar in the country and not only hear them playing songs you’ve loved since you were a teenager, but have them outright validate your love for them as a gay person. It healed wounds I didn’t even know I had.
There haven’t been many times in my life I’ve felt like I’ve unequivocally belonged, but for that one hour at the Stonewall Inn, I truly did belong. It’s an experience I’ll always cherish.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
ABOUT
“Do You Know What I Love the Most?” is a newsletter from Spencer Irwin about his relationship with the stories he loves. Spencer is an enthusiast and writer from Newark, Delaware, who likes punk rock, comic books, working out, breakfast, and most of all, stories. His previous work appeared on Retcon Punch, One Week One Band, and Crisis on Infinite Chords, and he can be found on Twitter at @ThatSpenceGuy. If you like this newsletter, please subscribe and share with your friends!
Is including Hüsker Dü on this list a stretch? Well, pretty much every other band and musician I list here only exists because of the bands in Our Band Could Be Your Life, so I say no.
Fun fact: when you stumble into a gay bar for the first time absolutely terrified to make eye contact with anyone, a bartender MAY briefly adopt you and assign you a chaperone/guide.
As far as I know, at least!