I added this as a chapter to my book after
watching the film “Maestro” on IFC. The clubs of my youth gave me sanctuary and
respite from life. They were my social hub and a place to be me and live my
life in a society that wasn’t quite as open as it is now. My heart breaks for
all those killed this past weekend in Orlando. They were trying to find solace,
find a friend, find a date, or just fucking dance, but it all ended so
horribly. In our post-Obergefell world, we thought we had it all wrapped up and
we could go about our lives.
We
were wrong. Very wrong.
Field
Observation: An Aging Club Kid Speaks (September 2011)
excerpt from “Jesus has two Daddies”
I often get laughed at by my students for my musical choices
in the classroom/studio. I won’t lie; it was a tough time growing up musically.
I grew up at the end of Led Zeppelin and the beginning of Abba. My choices were
limited for sure. But music was a huge part of my growing up. I loved Elton
John and some of the musicals my parents had on vinyl. I remember coming home
from camp in 6th grade, and my parents had bought A Night at the Opera by
Queen, and it blew my little 12-year-old-head. Apparently they needed a rock
and roll soundtrack for the bacchanal they had while I was away at camp.
My early years as a young gay male and the world of music
that opened up to me in the clubs, bars, and discos in Toledo had a lasting
effect on my musical tastes as an adult. If I wasn’t sneaking in to the gay
clubs and dancing to late disco or early house, I was at the straight clubs
shaking it to the grinding funk and R&B that populated the playlists at
such bars like Renee’s, one of the true discos left standing after the 70s.
They tried to update the place with new lights and décor, but it was what it
was, an old disco tucked in a shopping mall.
It didn’t last long into the 80s. I had older gay friends who tried to
turn me on to the various musical genres taking hold, an array of music that
still has a place on my iPod today. Cutting-edge groups like Kraftwerk and
divas such as Sylvester and Grace Jones still rock my world. But as the 80s
closed up and we moved on into the 90s, club culture was still booming. Bars
were a place of refuge for my friends and me, both gay and straight. They were
places where we could go and get away from it all. Sure, we had the disco
anthem I am what I am (by Gloria Gaynor if you didn’t know) to help us feel
good about ourselves, but it was no Born this Way.
Many of my current students go to the Necto in Ann Arbor, MI
another grey lady from the disco era who has managed to survive into this new
century. Of course, we knew it as the Nectarine Ballroom back then. It was a
spacious and opulent place where the music was amazing and every night, gay or
straight, was fabulous. Money was saved up each week for the nights out in
Michigan. If we drove fast, we could close the Nectarine at 2:00 a.m. and drive
back to Ohio to close out Buttons or Bretz and continue partying until 4 or 5
am.
I caught the documentary “Maestro” on IFC, and the film has
been floating around in my head since I watched it. I have watched the opening credits many times, as the narration over the thumping house beats brought back
many memories for me. As the credits roll, a voice begins to speak:
“I want to tell you about walking into an oasis.”
“Feeling like I just walked into my family’s living
room...it was about being safe from the social restrictions of the outside.”
“Everything the Moral Majority told you couldn’t do, it
didn’t exist anymore. It was a family that had only one rule, to love thy
brother, and that was okay. It was you and them against the world, and we
survived together.”
I get goose bumps as I read these words because that is how
I felt about going out to the bars and clubs in my early 20s. It was freedom
from a world of AIDS and HIV and from the crap going on in my head as a young
man who knew he was gay but didn’t know how he fit into the world. The last
line says that we survived together, but in reality, we didn’t. I lost so many
friends from this time that it breaks my heart to think about them and their
lives, cut down so quickly. My nights of going out and clubbing are pretty much
over now. It’s a totally different experience to dance with a kid in your
family room to the Wii and not be in a club. The smell of pot and poppers are
replaced with the smell of juice boxes and a not so fresh diaper. I can still
crank out Lady Gaga with the kids and on cue they both raise their hands in the
back of my car as Mother Monster commands them to “put their paws up!” And I can still put on my headphones, grab my
dog, and go out for a walk in the park jamming to the tunes that made me who I
am today. The strobes are gone, but the memories remain.
Dance on my brothers and sisters. Dance on.
