Last Friday (March 14), NYCGMC performed our concert, called Hear My Song at the legendary cathedral, St. John the Divine. It's a dream for many a singer to perform there. As ever, our artistic director nailed the messaging and tone for a time such as now. There was an unexpected personal break through that happened, though.

Our artistic director commissioned a new work called No Son of Mine. Prompted to recall our parents' words upon coming out, the lyrics were sourced directly from the chorus. Ash, a remarkable songsmith and arranger, did that with the final result. (website: withmusicbyash)

As a mere piece of music, it was one of the most challenging pieces to learn. The real challenge, however, was an emotional one. At first, I couldn't be in the rehearsal room while we learned it. Everything about it was hitting far too close to home.

As we got closer to the show, I was able to get through it. I won't lie. It was through sheer force of will and mild dissociation. The song intentionally doesn't resolve the story being told. Then something interesting happened.

The night of our tech rehearsal, we were in the cathedral running through the show. During "regular" rehearsal, it's easy for me to be a little detached--even goof off and crack jokes to keep the mood light. But, a different part of my brain ticks on during tech rehearsal.

My instincts as a performer turned on during our run through. No matter how I feel about a song, even if I hate it, I always find a way to deliver for the audience. There's a point where my ego goes on pause because my focus is on real people in those seats. The audience deserves my full emotional commitment and intention. So, my guard was down for this run through of No Son of Mine.

Rage.

That is the only word I possess to describe what I felt. It was unexpected and sudden. It took me right back to the moment I turned my back on my childhood church and what I believed about God.

Without writing a memoir, I was weeping my eyes out at an altar call at a youth meeting. I was probably 19 years old. No matter how much I tried to be a "good Christian" or devoted my time to t'he bible and church, I couldn't shake being queer. I was tired of it—tired of living even.

As I knelt on the floor of the church, there was an abrupt stop to the crying. I felt a sudden and powerful rage at church and at God. I didn't explode. I kept my head down, noped the fuck out after dismissal, and never went back.

As NYCGMC sang the violent words used against us, that old anger spilled over. I can't say how much of that was helped by the cinematic poetry of performing in a church. It wasn't an explosive anger. It was more like a covered pot left to boil too long.

I never addressed that rage. Not in a direct way. I don't think anger is a feeling I ever learned how to process in a helpful way. It's a feeling I try to avoid. But, anger is what I feel right now.

And that's okay.

America played Fuck Around and Find Out. And chyle, are we ever finding out. But regurgitating each others rage on social media is tiresome. It's all we seem to be doing. It feels like it's all we can do.

Beyond that, I'm also angry about my life. Yes, understanding I have an executive dysfunction changed everything. It's also outrageous that the medicine that helps me do—well—anything is subject to constant shortages. Shortages caused by privileged rich kids abusing prescribed stimulants and handing them out to their lil' friends. Meanwhile, those of us on the 'Broke Ho' end of the spectrum suffer for it.

I came a long since putting my mental health first. It's borne fruit in the relationships with myself and with my loved ones. But I'm still on the struggle bus; just managing to survive on SNAP, hand me downs, and 50% off clearance sales from Fashion Nova.

This is all work I need to do with my therapist, but I want to reframe my relationship with anger. I don't like to feel angry. I don't like to feel rage. But now I see that ignoring it hurts me more than I'm afraid it might hurt other people.

Where does this all culminate?

I want to learn how to embrace anger and point it toward true north. When up against a system that doesn't want me to exist, my survival is the greatest form of resistance. Not only will I survive—I’ll do it with joy.

(Photo by Mikey Gulcicek @mikeygulci)

Thank you to The Wavys for nominating Habit Forming for Best Songwriting and Best Production. Thank you so much for giving me a stage to strut.

Give it up for my sangers; aka. The Jolettes: Alex Nourishad, James E. Temple, Ryan Kennedy, and Thom Cantey. Our first rehearsal was an hour before soundcheck and these theydies nailed it. 

(Thom came up with "The Jolettes" 💛💜)

On the cusp of releasing a new song for the first time in four years, taking a minute to reflect feels right. I hit the refresh button after writing the first draft. Maybe that's a blessing in disguise. 😆

The first go around felt... too heavy. Suffice it to say that, since releasing Heaven, everyone's world flipped upside down. But, during that time, I found access to help I didn't know I needed. I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety and ADHD, got access to medication, and started therapy.

I had some stellar opportunities, thanks to New York City Gay Men's Chorus and our a cappella group, TONEWALL. After directing and programming concerts, solos, debuting new music, and studio recordings for this massive musical family, that heifer in the back of my mind had to shut up.

I have music that I'm excited to share. It's a little nerve wracking because it's a different direction than you might expect. But, it's time to werk.

So, let's make that home in the clouds, shall we?