The Dunedin music scene has been vibrant since the early 1980s. Vibrant, but not diverse. Until the past couple of years, most bands and solo artists have been cis men playing post punk and surf rock. This has led to a lot of gigs in Dunedin full of cis men, either on the bill or in the crowd. So what about the non-men? Gender queer musicians are some of the most interesting artists in Dunedin, lacking the presence they deserve. Gender queer people are those who do not fit within the typical gender binary of male and female.
Critic Te Ārohi snagged interviews with Lucy Pollock (they/them) of Fairuza, Riot Gull, Beet-Wix, and Sir Queen; and solo artist Keira Wallace (they/them).
Has it ever been weird or difficult being a gender queer musician in Dunedin?
Lucy: Part of the reason why I started a band was because I was frustrated at the lack of women in the high school music scene. It was all dudes and you’d go to a gig and there would only be guys playing – not even a single girl in any of the bands. That's why I started playing music, so I could fill that gap that was there at the time. There’s heckling, also a lot of being talked down to by dudes who come off as super condescending. There’s still annoyingly an element of surprise [that we’re] in a band with no men in it and we make good music. That’s irritating, men asking me if my pedals are right or other things that I know that a lot of other women have also experienced. I wish it wasn’t surprising that we know what we are doing.
Keira: I haven’t found it difficult sharing my music and existing in the spaces, but finding other female/gender queer people within this community that are around my age and share the same passion has been difficult. Especially as a solo artist, I tend to retreat to my dungeon when creating music and I’d really love to collaborate and strengthen connections with the non-men artists I know. Often, I’m the youngest artist at gigs and age can be quite important in making me comfortable opening up about the creative process of music, so I’m usually hesitant to reach out and collaborate with older artists. It’s this whole thing about feeling like I have to prove myself to people because I’m sixteen and gender queer. I definitely do feel the vacuum where non-men artists should be, but programmes for youth like AMPED are great for making the initial intimidating entry to the music scene a lot more accessible.
Does your gender help you bring a different perspective to the local music scene?
L: I guess it's a different experience. It depends, though. Obviously, not every man is doing the same thing, either, and there are still quite a few men who are not doing things that I personally find very interesting. It's bad to generalise, but I think maybe we've just had different experiences. I think sometimes it's harmful to think in such binary categories and about the effects those have because I think that's been used in a lot of negative ways in the past, if that makes sense, and I don't actually want to perpetuate that. But there are ways that it has obviously affected me growing up that do have benefits which might bring something to the music scene. It's just annoying that what was considered rare in the ‘80s is still rare. It's this pattern of women trying to come to the front and then finding out it's not new. There are so many people that have come before; we still keep getting over-saturated by men. I don't think we are doing anything new in that respect. It's just the fact that unfortunately we still live in a patriarchal society, so it’s two steps forward one step back. I thought that what we were doing was really new, but it's actually not. There’s so many women who have tried to do this before. It's just the fact that the system is still there which keeps pushing us back so we get erased.
K: Everyone is so completely unique and shaped by their own experiences, traumas, and relationships that everyone brings different perspectives about all aspects of their lives. For me, gender doesn’t have a huge influence over my music but is merely one factor that has moulded my views into what they are today. My music documents the happenings in my brain, and if that happens to be about gender on a particular day, then people might hear it and learn something about me. I’d love to live in a world where I can be recognised for my music and not have to justify anything about myself or feel separated in some way from other artists. But experience shapes our perception, our brains learn what is often safe and what could be a risk, and creates barriers that hinder complete freeness of creativity.
Do you feel like you have to pander to a male gaze at all?
L: At the album release gig I wore a fancy dress. I felt like I should wear something fancy for the album release, and I think I actually would have preferred to wear something a bit less because it was so fancy but it's also kind of fun. I think personally I just want to do what I want so I kind of do it anyway but it definitely is a pressure that exists and it takes a conscious effort to not care about. I remember someone saying one time she didn't wear makeup and then this girl comes up and says, “Why aren't you wearing makeup?” I do also feel pressure to put [on] makeup and stuff to look a certain way because I feel like it’s not as acceptable to just be up there looking sloppy if you're fem. I think it definitely is a bit of an expectation that exists.
K: I did go through a phase where I was intensely against wearing skirts, dresses, purple, or pink (I still despise pink, though) before I came out and was feeling quite socially misaligned. I’ve become much more relaxed in my expression now and that has definitely translated into my music; I often try not to have an audience in mind when writing my music. I create music to process my surroundings and hope that my experiences can connect with others once they’ve been brought into song form. There are still definitely generational implications of misogyny that I see in myself and the people around me, especially with make-up, clothing, and gender expression. I definitely don’t feel like I have to appeal to men when I’m on stage, though.
Is it ever threatening being on stage when the audience is mostly male, or when on the bill with male artists?
L: Well, I kind of tend to avoid playing at those kinds of gigs. We only really say yes to acts who we feel are aligned with our values. I think that we attract more people who aren't just men in the crowd. Although, on our Spotify sets it's like 65% male in the like 25 to 33-year-olds as our biggest demographic – which is a bit strange, but it is kind of interesting – and the people who come up to us after gigs who are the most, like, enthusiastic, a lot of the time it is men in that age bracket, which is kind of interesting.
K: My music doesn’t tend to attract scary drunk men, which is great! To reduce any risks I’m always super careful about which venues I play at and stick to ones I know, like Dog With Two Tails [Editor’s note: RIP] and Inch Bar. I did play at an open mic night at an Irish pub called The Bog which was a huge mistake; the audience was entirely drunk men and I felt really on edge the whole set. I’ve had a few messages from men I don’t know, one asking me out for drinks with his mates and saying he thought I was eighteen when I told him my age, which was fourteen at the time. My mum comes to all my gigs which really helps provide a safety blanket. In regards to playing with male bands, the ones I have played with have all been super lovely and it feels like we just focus on the music we create rather than who it’s coming from.
Would you say that others read you as “queer”, whatever that may mean?
L: I have no clue. I've only recently come out, so I don’t know how other people perceive me. If someone is going to read me as queer and have a problem with that, I don't want anything to do with them anyway. I would prefer that people did read me as queer so that it brought me closer to people I actually want to be around.
K: I think so, but not always by the people I want to know. I’m usually hesitant to play at my high school because of that – I wear the male uniform and I’ve never been called slurs to my face as a result of me playing music publicly, but my friends have overheard some students refer to me as a “ranga tr*nny”. This leads back to the selectiveness of venues to prevent this, but performing in public spaces and venues will never be completely safe from harassment and being perceived as anything.
In your opinion, does Dunedin have enough queer music venues?
L: There aren't enough venues in general and there's not a queer venue specifically. That doesn't even exist, so if it existed that would be cool. It would be cool just to see more venues in general. It's not bad going back to the same places. I guess it's just nice to have options for different places to go to and there is like an ever-present threat that the current ones we have are going to not be around any longer, which is concerning. If there could be more venues and also [if] just the threat of spaces closing could not be such a problem, I think the main thing is practice spaces. It would be cool to have more spaces for people to make music here that were more accessible.
K: I don’t think there are any [venues] specifically catered for queer people, and definitely not enough music venues in general. It would be amazing to have that though, but honestly I think that for music venues to survive, they need to be open to as wide an audience as they can. There are venues like Yours that are very vocal about being an inclusive space which is great. A queer music venue would be great for artists that may feel intimidated by bars and venues that may feel more vulnerable. I think it’s also important to have music venues that aren’t associated with alcohol to make gigs more age inclusive and supportive of those who may feel unsafe around alcohol or struggle with addiction.