Gay Wednesday (on Tuesday)

I dangerously and unfairly project my experiences and moods onto music made by gay people for your entertainment, and also I saw Wednesday again

Interacting with Gay Guy Music

I’m gay (derogatory). Ten years ago, I was petrified of saying that out loud (silly), but now it feels more like a running joke. My friend Ivan likes to point out to me, specifically, all the things he does to listen to and support gay people. Ivan, thank you. 

I’ve spent the better part of my adult years embedded in indie & DIY spaces, especially ones where sexual orientation is incidental and not central to the experience. Now, out in the West Philly scene, it feels like a queer identity is a prerequisite to participation (and, duh, it should be). But, even at basement shows out here, and definitely at shows in Cleveland, I was often the only gay boy in the room, and at others I have been the only queer in the room. 

So, whenever I come across another gay guy in an indie rock space, whether they play in the band or work for a label or whatever, I still get a sense of surprise. There are lots, but once in a while I look around and I think…what are you doing here? 

Yes, I had the PWR BTTM crewneck c. 2016

But, it’s June, the month where we’re proud of ourselves for various things. And, coincidentally or intentionally, my inbox has been alight this spring with albums touching on gay themes, gay experiences, gay homosexuality; it feels as if they’re finally letting people with my vocal range sing about boys since the demise of PWR BTTM. There’s Man on Man’s Provincetown, Seán Barna’s An Evening at Macri Park, and Logan Lynn’s forthcoming EP, Distracted. 

There’s something exciting about getting these in my promo inbox. I pretend like I’m above wanting representation (and, in many parts of public life, I am represented — sometimes overrepresented). But for as much as these albums promise, I keep feeling let down. Sometimes, I think the lyrics are trite, sometimes I think the subject matter is boring, flavor-of-the-moment gay guy discourse that pops up way too regularly. 

But, I have to imagine that for an artist like, say, Roddie Bottum, who’s endured the straightness of the alt-rock world for entirely too long, making loudly gay rock has a healing quality. I like the riffs on Provincetown. I like the spirit. But it feels weird in a way that I can’t wrap my head around. Maybe it’s the years I spent in isolation away from a queer community at the dawn of COVID that has me feeling alien when I listen to that album, or Macri Park, or anything from Distracted. Maybe I’m hesitant to see the liberatory potential in an album from my corner of the universe after the swift and righteous cancellation of PWR BTTM (whose music I returned to for this piece and, woof…I was wearing rose-colored glasses). Disappointments, hangups, and projections aside, one Pride season record really stood out to me:

Life on the Edge of You, Lontalius

Kartel, 2023

Queer media that works in subtleties can feel stunted and boring. Whether the subject is a gay TV character whose romantic escapades are watered down to sweet nothings or reality competition shows that promote their sponsors better than liberatory politics, there is a looming dissatisfaction with LGBTQ+ representation in media. Too often, the fun details of queer life are hidden to keep the media artifact “palatable” to “Middle America” (a much more heterogeneous place than execs are used to) or the artifact is so commercialized that every gay moment feels like a cynical ploy for attention.

Life on the Edge of You is not stunted; it is not boring. It’s gentle, caring, and sometimes, yes, subtle. Compared to previous Lontalius records, the queer piece is less subtle than usual; his singer-songwriter approach has lent itself well to “sad indie,” which can get gay, but on Life, Johnston starts from that gay vantage point. “Zachary,” for example, is propulsive and alluring, a fun exercise for Johnston to imagine being attracted to a car guy. Johnston’s approach to indie pop is still understated and his pension for gloom still manifests, but Life is a rejuvenating, unclumsy exercise in queer artmaking, written with deliberation and intricate emotion. 

It’s just what I’ve needed: music in a sonic palette I like, appeals to the arsenal of emotions made manifest in queer everyday living, a record where an artist’s sexuality, a sexuality that looks like mine, is paramount to the record’s appeal but that doesn’t overstate the impact it expects to have. Every piece of art has a politics. Life on the Edge of You has a politics; some if it is easy to see, some of it not as much. What appeals to me is that Lontalius appears aware of just how much of a political statement it is and is not to be gay and make the art he makes; he makes no grand promises of what the album will accomplish. Sonically, lyrically, thematically, Life on the Edge of You grabs me and feels true.

Also, I Saw Wednesday This Weekend

For the second time in my young life, I saw the band Wednesday. If you’re reading this, you’re probably familiar, but just in case: they’re a North Carolina-based 5-piece band fronted by Karly Hartzman, previously the vocalist of Diva Sweetly, featuring Jake Lenderman (of MJ fame) and Xandy Chelmis, their ace in the hole, a pedal steel maestro who pushes the instrument to its limits. Over three studio albums and a covers compilation in rapid succession, Wednesday has grabbed indie rock by the neck with their terrifying mix of shoegaze and country, a natural byproduct of life in the southern US and a fascination with alternative rock movements. Hartzman’s deft vocals, which oscillate between her chest voice and head voice with controlled chaos, deliver haunting lyrics that update Southern Gothic for the 2020s. Lenderman’s solo work, a fuzzy, country-inflicted brand of slacker rock, exists in symbiosis with Wednesday’s work; fans of one inevitably become fans of the other.

The first time I saw Wednesday, it was in the Mahall’s locker room, a defunct DIY space in the entertainment megaplex that was, essentially, an alcove near the basement lanes. They performed alongside two local bands, including one brand new band, and it seemed like at least one-third of the audience was there to support their friends and duck out. Wednesday played hits from their first two albums, I Was Trying to Explain You to Someone and Twin Plagues, for an audience of 20some gazers, standing at attention. Their first two albums are especially heavy on the shredding; the sound bled into the ten bowling lanes adjacent to the locker room. It hurt. And it was legendary.

Wednesday, Mahall’s, November 2021

That was then. Now, in June of 2023, Wednesday is 9 weeks into a world tour of their Dead Oceans debut, Rat Saw God. They played Union Transfer with their touring opener, Tenci, and the long-defunct band All Dogs, who came together specifically to play this show (and, yes, they were everything I wanted and more). I wondered how the growing band would do on ticket sales or on filling the space, both with sound and with energy.

They rose to the occasion easily.

Wednesday, Union Transfer, June 2023

Union Transfer holds 1,200 people, and it certainly felt like all 1,200 showed up. In this big ol’ room, Wednesday commands a presence easily; Hartzman’s stage banter is balanced, funny, and quick. She shouted out her sister’s boyfriend and Dan Wriggins on their respective Master’s Degrees. Where the Wednesday sound was extreme, painful, and all-consuming in the Mahall’s basement (a positive experience, if you’re me), in Union Transfer, the band’s bigness fills the space towards the top of what it can handle, but within a safe range. Their high-energy shreddage inspired push pits galore. At Mahall’s, they looked sheepishly grateful for everyone who stayed; at Union Transfer, the band was in their element, still grateful, but deservedly confident. It was breathtaking.

And, yes, I cried a little bit during “Chosen to Deserve” and “Bull Believer.”

A playlist of Wednesday’s full set can be found HERE