Shana Goldin-Perschbacher’s new book, *Queer Country*, emerged from an unexpected moment of inspiration in a Virginia bookstore. After seeing the band Girlyman, known for their appearance on the soundtrack of the LGBTQ+ classic film *But I’m a Cheerleader*, she became fascinated by the intersection of LGBTQ+ identities and country music. This curiosity led her to explore the genre’s relationship with queer and trans communities, ultimately culminating in her book, which was published by the University of Illinois Press on March 22.
Goldin-Perschbacher, a professor at Temple University’s Boyer College of Music and Dance, delves into the expectations and expressions associated with different musical genres, particularly how queer and trans artists navigate them. She observes that while country music is traditionally associated with sincerity and authenticity, it also provides a space for queer artists to play with “camp” — a style marked by exaggerated reality often embraced by queer culture. Dolly Parton is a prime example, as she is celebrated for her sincere approach to country music and her camp appeal, uniting fans from different backgrounds.
The book also critiques the origins and constructs of musical genres. Goldin-Perschbacher notes that the country music genre, like many others, has roots in racial divisions. In the early days of the music industry, Black artists were confined to “race records,” while white artists adapted these sounds into what became known as “hillbilly” or country music. She argues that genre labels often serve more as marketing tools than accurate reflections of musical intent, observing that musicians often draw inspiration from various sources, blurring genre boundaries.
However, for many listeners, genres carry specific cultural and social meanings. Country music, in particular, is often associated with a conservative, rural lifestyle and a straight, white, Christian identity. This perception challenges LGBTQ+ artists, often seen as outliers within the genre. Goldin-Perschbacher highlights this tension by focusing on trans artists like Coyote Grace, Namoli Brennett, and Rae Spoon, who were active in the mid-2000s. These artists often found themselves included in concert lineups because of their queer or trans identities rather than their sound, leading to unusual and sometimes challenging performances.
The book discusses how LGBTQ+ artists are frequently pushed to the margins of country music or redirected into Americana, a genre encompassing a broader range of styles. Goldin-Perschbacher cites examples such as Mary Gauthier, who performs regularly at the Grand Ole Opry, and Chely Wright, who was excluded from the Opry after coming out as lesbian. These cases illustrate how genre boundaries can serve as gatekeeping, maintaining a narrow definition of who belongs in country music.
Drawing on queer studies, Goldin-Perschbacher examines how LGBTQ+ artists both navigate and challenge these genre boundaries. Her work is accessible to academic audiences and general readers, particularly those familiar with theorists like bell hooks and Jack Halberstam, whose ideas are often shared on social media.
Goldin-Perschbacher hopes that *Queer Country* will help dispel stereotypes about rural life and LGBTQ+ communities, particularly the misconception that queer people cannot or do not live in rural areas. She also aims to raise awareness of queer country musicians within the broader LGBTQ+ community, encouraging people to discover these artists, attend their shows, and engage with their stories.
“Many queer people listen to straight musicians, identify with them, and invite them to Pride events,” she says. “But there are these wonderful queer and trans musicians who often struggle more in the music industry. I hope people interested in these topics will learn about these musicians, listen to their songs, and support them.”
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