One of the things I find curious looking back on my life is a subtle but pervasive sense of draw toward trans culture. I grew up in white bread, middle class North America, so this culture was hardly the neighbourhood I walked through day after day. But as years wore on, little hints of it was able to sneak among the clipped lawns and white washed fences from time to time.
Music was probably the most common conduit for these hints. The Rolling Stones' artwork for 'Have You Seen Your Mother Baby?'. David Bowie's whole persona circa early 1970s. The bar scene in Ray Davies' 'Lola'. Each of these caught something in me, drew my attention, and stirred something inside. 'Wait a minute,' this subtle feeling rumbled. 'Wait a minute.' There was an opening in these moments; quickly closed, but an opening nonetheless.
Lou Reed was part of this. I remember driving in the backseat of the family Pinto, hearing those words grumble out of the tinny AM radio - 'Shaved her legs and then he was a she' - and feeling, wondering, asking all sorts of things. It was as if he was describing a 'me' that I did not yet know of; whispering hints from the edges, letting me know that something was here, waiting.
I have never been a big fan of Lou's music. Oh there have been moments - 'Pale Blue Eyes', 'Dirty Boulevard', 'Hello It's Me' - but for the most part, his body of work is a bit too abrasive for my ear and flesh and bones. But this morning I am feeling such deep appreciation for those whispers he offered. 'Shaved her legs and then he was a she'. For a young kid growing up lost and lonely and confused, they were like the subtlest of beacons - way beneath conscious awareness, but just enough light to keep me (barely) sane.
So thanks, Lou. May you rest in peace.
