Chappell Roan: The Sapphic Supernova Posterchild Behind The Rise of Lesbian Pop

Maddie Nash breaks down the femininomenon of the rise (no fall) of Midwest princess Chappell Roan and how her meteoric takeover of pop music has catapulted queer representation in the mainstream media.

In recent weeks, the pop and mainstream music landscape has been dominated by a rogue: an outrageous, outspoken, lesbian drag queen from the rural Midwest. Chappell Roan’s supersonic boom into popularity that reached a speed never seen before, shifting from underground artist into superstar in a matter of months. Each time you check her Spotify listeners, the number so far stands at 45 million, compared to her humble beginnings of only 1 million. She attracted the biggest crowd Lollapalooza has ever seen, has made a guest appearance on the tour of reigning pop queen Olivia Rodrigo, and blazed into the mainstream stratosphere with a track being hailed as our generation’s ‘Y.M.C.A’.

Her rise has been completely unprecedented, especially due to the brazen lesbian content of her music. Lesbianism in pop music has exploded within the last few years, but its popularity has remained within the pretty niche confines of a queer audience. girl in red, possibly the most successful postergirl for lesbian pop thus-far, has reached great success, headlining world tours, but even she has not garnered the level of mainstream appeal enjoyed by the femininomenal Ms. Roan.

Chappell’s debut album, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, released on the 22 September 2023, features some of her biggest hits, such as ‘Red Wine Supernova’, ‘HOT TO GO!’, and ‘Pink Pony Club’. In the eleven months since its release, many of these have gone viral online, massively boosting her popularity of her songs to 100m+ streams. Her newest single, ‘Good Luck, Babe!’, peaked at number six on the Billboard Hot 100 in July 2024.

image credit: Chartmetric

Music catering to the queer community has dipped its toes into the mainstream since the advent of gaypop around the birth of disco in the 70s. The discographies of the likes of Queen, George Michael, and David Bowie all held allusions to queer lifestyles, though such references had to be (however thinly) veiled rather than spoken outright. A famous example of the censorship of queer experience from popular music was the BBC’s refusal to play ‘Relax’ by Frankie Goes to Hollywood on the radio in 1983, given it referred to gay sex.

Despite this, gay icons such as Freddie Mercury have since been adopted and cherished by heteronormative audiences, too, fawned upon for their campy quirks while simultaneously having their sexual identities ignored, censored, or blacklisted. Whilst with the aforementioned artists their identity and music could often be separated and thus cleansed of queerness by audiences, the unapologetic nature of Chappell Roan’s work makes that disassociation virtually impossible, as her lesbian identity is such a pillar of her art.

Up until now, there has been a glass ceiling on queer music. Despite being fervently and widely enjoyed within niche gay audiences, queer music has never competed with artists of such great mass appeal as Taylor Swift. As the experience can’t be claimed or truly understood by a heterosexual audience, it can never be truly accepted by wider, mainstream, heteronormative culture. In my opinion, Chappell Roan is the first artist to kick this ceiling in, and take explicitly lesbian music to the popularity we are currently seeing. Lesbianism historically has always been alienated, fetishised, shunned and distanced. Even when gay men become more societally digestible, lesbianism has remained taboo and beleaguered by disgust. Now, we are seeing straight girls post their boyfriends to songs about women being in love.

Seeing this was especially weird to me; an inverse of everything I am used to. These songs and lyrics spanning the highs and lows of love between women are being used as an accessible romantic symbol, one to be related to by the everyday listener. It is such an alien and exciting (femini)nomenon, that music that celebrates lesbian relationships is receiving such praise and popularity. It may signal a change in society, a willingness to listen to and resonate with music and experiences that have before been outcast, and an example for what’s to come in the future of queer artists. On the other hand, the immense speed of her climb may indicate a dangerous commercialisation of lesbian music, in which the appetite of heteronormative audiences for sapphic pop may dilute its intrinsically alternative core and accuracy to lesbian lived experiences. Regardless, this is a historic moment in music history, headlined by one of the most exciting new artists out there today!

Words by Maddie Nash

Hedwig and the Angry Inch: Divina de Campo shines in a riotously camp revival

It’s been 15 years since the last professional UK production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. With the media scrutiny of those who are gender non-conforming growing ever harsher and political rollbacks of LGBTQ+ rights cropping up left and right, it feels as though we need the smutty yet heartfelt musings of a genderqueer glam rocker more than ever. As Divina de Campo’s Hedwig proudly stands centre stage for the opening number, her fully extended denim cape emblazoned with the words ‘gender is a construct’, it becomes clear this production will be the antidote to contemporary toxicity.

Despite its humble off-Broadway beginnings and a box office bomb of a film adaptation, the musical has built a diehard cult following among Queer audiences akin to that of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. The story follows Hedwig, an ‘internationally ignored’ East German rock singer, who battles with the trauma of a botched gender-reassignment surgery she undergoes to escape her Soviet homeland. Abandoned by her husband in middle America, she starts a relationship with Tommy Gnosis, a young, inspiring musician who goes on to break her heart, steal her music and become a world-touring rock icon. We join Hedwig and her band, named after her scarred genital mound, as she performs on a tour that shadows Gnosis’ while retelling her tumultuous life story with witty candour.

For this gig, the entourage have pitched up in Leeds. Jamie Fletcher’s production cleverly tweaks the script (with nods to Richmond Hill and Roundhay Park) and the multi-faceted set design from Ben Stones is primarily a Working Men’s Club stroke Dive Bar. It is as impressive as it is charming that Fletcher has managed to marry the original show’s riotous camp with a self-deprecating Northern sensibility.

The main attraction is of course Hedwig herself. From the moment spotlight illuminates her at the back of the stalls, it is de Campo’s show. The Rupaul’s Drag Race UK runner-up struts down the aisles, pausing to bask in the audience’s rapturous reception. They nail the bravado and showmanship of a diva with delusions of grandeur but also capture Hedwig’s punk edge, gyrating, growling, and rasping for a rowdy 100 minutes. Racing through the script’s funniest lines, de Campo delivers the jokes with a lovable lewdness, occasionally deploying exaggerated Yorkshire tones to hilarious effect. They truly are the star turn.

Yet, as much as the rip-roaring rush of the show’s soundtrack is electrifyingly Rock N Roll, it is easy to get left in the dust. Lose yourself in the anarchy for just a moment and you run the risk of missing a lyric crucial to the plot. Though ultimately, the spectacle of de Campo slut-dropping in sync with a giant inflatable gummy bear is enough to render any confusion insignificant.

By the show’s end, de Campo has put to good use their well-known four octave range and has even squeezed in a quick cameo from the iconic red wig and silver dress. Hedwig’s regalia has been removed layer by layer as she bares herself to vulnerability both physically and emotionally. Fletcher’s production succeeds in stripping back the pretensions of gender, belonging, and ambition in a show that centres and champions those that do not conform. This musical is a tonic, albeit one that is bittersweet and fabulously dirty.

Dorian Electra brings high voltage hyperpop to Belgrave Music Hall

Dorian Electra has brought the Queers out to play. The crowd is a multi-coloured sea of dyed hair, trans pride flags, and rainbow suspenders. Any sold-out show at Belgrave Music Hall is bound to conjure an atmosphere of excitement, but this rainbow brigade seems especially ready to get down and dirty.

Such a unique audience could only be drawn by an artist as innovative as Electra. The genderfluid popstar’s outlandish on-stage persona and intelligent caricature of masculinity has made them the doy-them of hyperpop performers. In a genre that thrives on collaboration, Electra has racked up an impressive roster of credits alongside 100 Gecs, Charli XCX, and even Lady Gaga. Their most recent album, 2020’s ‘My Agenda’, is a riotous collection of distorted and glitching pop bangers and masterfully blends Queer politics, meme culture, and experimental production. Electra’s range of influences is so broad and esoteric, it’s anyone guess what they will bring to the stage tonight.  

As the creepy and abrasive trills of show opener ‘F the World’ ring out, a silhouetted figure appears on stage. Through strobing neon lights, Electra can be seen in an ensemble best described as a sort of kinky Slenderthem: a long black PVC trenchcoat; devilishly pointed shoulder pads; taloned black gloves. Through both ‘M’lady’ and ‘Gentleman’, two technpop tracks that cleverly satirise the trope of the chivalrous man, the singer thrashes to the beat with flare. The constant oscillation of Electra’s shows between ridiculous camp and unnerving horror brings nothings but joy.

Launching into the middle third the set, Electra drives the show into pure pop overdrive. A speedy costume change sees them return as a scantily clad police chief flanked by two similarly bare-skinned dancers. The focus is now on Electra’s brighter first album ‘Flamboyant’ as the trio convulse in synchronisation to sticky melodic hooks and clattering synths. In fact, the outro of the album’s title track is where Electra’s vocals shine the brightest, drawing attention to how seldom their voice is gifted a spotlight amid the extravagance. Although, this does nothing to diminish their command of the stage. “Spell it out for Daddy”, Electra orders as the financially benevolent love interest during the tongue-in-cheek ‘Daddy Like’. The singing audience do as they are told.  

The tail end of the show sees Electra, now dressed as an anime-inspired army general, deliver their most aggressive material. With maximalist tracks such as ‘Ram It Down’, ‘Iron Fist’ and ‘My Agenda’, they juggle heavy metal, hardcore, dubstep and bubblegum bass to create the sound of sickly-sweet dystopian future. It’s enchanting and unnerving in equal measure.

For all the theatricality of a Dorian Electra show, the performer is smart to not rely solely on shock value. To see the deconstruction of masculinity from an artist between the binary enacted with such irreverent playfulness is nothing short of exhilarating. Make no mistake, this protest pop could be just the thing to kickstart a genderqueer revolution.