The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
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Thursday, February 15, 2018 — 5B
“My dad and I both grew up in
the same Pennsylvania town. And
he was gay, and I was gay and he
killed himself.”
This is the line that sums up
the plot of the critically acclaimed
graphic memoir and musical
“Fun Home,” a riveting story
based on the life of cartoonist
Alison Bechdel.
I first read Alison Bechdel’s
2006
graphic
memoir
“Fun
Home”
when
its
musical
adaptation was nominated for
Best Musical at the 2015 Tony
Awards.
Discovering
“Fun
Home” was one of the most
interesting and intimate reading
experiences I’ve ever had. It is a
heartbreaking and truthful and
beautiful depiction of a unique
experience that has the ability to
transcend its specific narrative,
making it relatable in a way I
would never have expected.
Although I don’t identify as a
part of the LGBTQ+ community,
I never expected a graphic novel
about the experience of growing
up with a queer identity to speak
to me on such a personal level.
But just as the queer community
is constantly asked to suspend
their own disbelief to relate to the
hundreds of thousands of straight
protagonists in all mainstream
literature, it shouldn’t come as a
shock that as a straight person, I
could relate deeply to the queer
narrative Bechdel shares with us
through her cartoons.
When the book was published
in 2006, “Fun Home” headlined
nearly every best of the year
book list, but it took a transition
into a musical and garnering
an immediate popularity in the
world of musical theatre to find its
way to my bookshelf. Praised for
breaking the boundaries of any
definition the world previously
held of “memoir,” the story
follows Bechdel’s childhood in
rural Pennsylvania and tells the
journey of both her own sexuality
and her relationship with her
closeted gay father. The memoir
is laid out in a series of comics that
chronicles her relationships with
her parents and grapples with the
past and the present — telling the
stories of her life before and after
her father’s suicide.
The graphic novel is seen as
a turning point for the world of
graphic novels — after its massive
success, more people began to
write and share graphic novels.
But more importantly, after its
publication, the greater theme
of
queerness
became
more
mainstream in the world of art
and literature. The story came at
a time where the world was ready
to celebrate this narrative and
bring it into a dialogue that had
been on the precipice for a very
long time. The honesty of the
novel makes reading it feel like
looking directly into the house
that Bechdel grew up in, the one
described intricate in the memoir.
After being received as a smash
hit in both the queer community
and society as a whole, talk of
a musical based on the memoir
began in 2013. “Fun Home”
opened on Broadway officially in
2015, and the theatre community
—
more
importantly,
the
mainstream theatre world that
is Broadway — have never been
given such a gift.
Historically,
musicals
and
plays that make it to Broadway
aren’t always the ones that look
to make a statement, but rather
those that look to entertain.
“Fun Home” was able to do
both, creating a beautiful and
captivating
moment
for
the
world. After falling in love with
the novel, I bought tickets to the
show when it took home the 2015
Tony for Best Musical, among
other accolades. The LGBTQ+
narrative needed to hit center
stage Broadway; I sat in the Circle
in the Square Theatre in early
2016 and I don’t think I breathed
for a full two hours. By the end, I
was sobbing with a joint feeling
of heartache and awe. The most
beautiful and inspiring part of the
performance was seeing a queer
protagonist not limited to just a
coming-out-narrative. The story
is about so much more: memory,
relationships, connecting with
others,
growing
up,
finding
yourself and coming to terms with
the life that you have been given.
All of this is surrounded by and
framed in Bechdel’s struggle with
her sexuality — both the graphic
novel and the musical are unique
in that they are multifaceted. I sat
in that theatre, right in the center
of Bechdel’s pain and ecstasy and
was refreshed to see something
so needed on a mainstream stage,
being shared and celebrated
by the queer and non-queer
communities alike.
Since its original publication,
“Fun Home” has become a
cultural phenomenon. It is the
gift that the world needed, it is the
musical Broadway needed and it
is the book my mind and heart and
soul needed. Despite closing on
Broadway in 2016, the show has
completed its first national tour,
produced regionally in the United
States as well as internationally
in the Philippines, with its
future sights set on Japan and a
second national tour. Its ability to
continue to captivate and affect
audiences is a great testament to
the universality and prominence
of the story. It is a beautiful
moment for the queer community
and the world — one that inspires
thoughtful discussions and opens
the door to more mainstream art
that is rooted deeply in the theme
of queer identity.
ELI RALLO
Daily Arts Writer
“What kind of music do you
like?”
When
this
question
is
dropped on any date/Tinder
conversation I’ve ever had, my
heart hits my stomach. There’s
the safe route containing my
pop interests: “I adore Carly
Rae Jepsen and Lorde. The new
Charli XCX mixtape is full of
jams. I’ve been a long time 1D
fan,” etc. And then there’s the
answer that’s a bit more true to
form: “I’d literally cut my heart
out for The Wonder Years. I
feel a religious connection
to everything Green Day has
ever done. I shed a few tears
during Jawbreaker’s reunion
set at Riot Fest last year.” As a
gay man in 2018, I often find it
hard to reconcile my punk and
queer
identities,
something
that has bothered me due to
the closely entwined history of
these two cultures.
Both
punk
and
queer
identities share the idea of
“otherness” — not making
the cut for normalcy, feeling
disenfranchised from the state
of the world and generally
sticking out. The punk scene
was
often
where
queer-
identifying people would be
able to gather to have some
sense of belonging. Punk is
literally rooted in otherness,
in the ability “to stick it to the
man” and to live however you
want, not how the world wants
you to. The first time I heard
the lyric “So fuck the world
/ And what it wants me to
be,” off of “Hoodie Weather”
by The Wonder Years, was
the first time I began to have
hope for any type of agency in
my life. It was the first time I
decided to fight back against
the
homophobia
deeply
ingrained in me from 13 years
spent in Catholic school.
About a year ago, I read
an article by Tom Vellner on
Noisey that lauded the merits
of punk and “the scene” in
helping him come out as a gay
man after also spending years
in Catholic school. The article
mirrored my experiences in
middle school and high school
with almost startling accuracy.
I have vivid memories of being
enthralled by the melodrama of
My Chemical Romance’s “I’m
Not OK (I Promise),” and the
sensual theatricality of Panic!
At The Disco’s Brendon Urie
helped me understand that it
was just fine to be male and
expressive at the same time.
Senses Fail’s Pull The Thorns
from Your Heart taught me
that a period of self-hatred
and
denial
was
perfectly
normal for queer people to
go
through,
and
hearing
Billie Joe Armstrong belt out
“Seventeen and strung out
on confusion” from “Coming
Clean” comforted me more
than anything else when I was
17 myself. My first real crush
ever was probably on Pete
Wentz of Fall Out Boy. This
music was my first indication
that I wasn’t an anomaly.
As
positive
and
heartwarming as the article
was for me, I also find it
to
be
a
fairly
uncommon
experience
in
the
modern
world and among people my
age. While I certainly know
other queer punks, I’m more
often greeted with surprise
or a jabbing, “I used to love
‘Sugar
We’re
Goin
Down’
when I was 15” when I tell
other gays (usually men) about
my musical passions. Despite
the shared ethos of punk/emo
music and queerness, there
seems to be a disconnect in
the
general
perception
of
their relationship by many gay
individuals in the 21st century.
This could be largely due
to the mostly indie/hip hop
obsessed bubble of Ann Arbor
(the city where I first opened
up to seeing men romantically),
but I’d like to propose that it
could be partly in response to
the more open social climate
of today’s world in comparison
to the ’80s and ’90s. With the
continuous
deconstruction
of social norms like gender
and
heteronormativity
—
which punk culture was one
of the first to widely express
and popularize (i.e. Pansy
Division)
in
the
last
few
decades of the 20th century
— LGBTQ+ individuals may
find it less necessary to seek
comfort
in
marginalized,
niche cultures that used to
represent safe havens for the
queer community. More queer
people might be able to find
comfort in shinier, more visible
mainstream genres like pop
and hop hop, or simply not feel
the need for catharsis in music.
While
these
are
freedoms
I wish I had growing up,
brainwashed by conservatism
and religion — I often had
to sneak my sisters’ Britney
Spears HitClips because boys
weren’t supposed to enjoy
“(You Drive Me) Crazy” — it’s
a beautiful thing to witness
an improving social climate
where more and more LGBTQ+
people feel much less pressure
from society.
Yet, I’m also worried that
the sparks ignited by the punk
movement that have burned
a path for this improvement
are slowly being forgotten and
degraded.
The
importance
of
this
artform
in
queer
identity
is
being
further
marginalized even by queer
people themselves, chalking
it up to meritless melodrama
masked in aggressive guitar
riffs and the quick pulse of
a snare drum. Punk culture
continues to degrade itself in
the modern world through
the perpetuation and almost
overwhelming
saturation
of assault cases, most often
by cis, straight white men.
Despite
today’s
decaying
relationship
between
queer
and punk cultures, it should be
remembered as a forerunner
and advocator for queer rights
and expression, as a place for
those growing up without
acceptance to go and finally
turn themselves inside out.
Punk music let me know
it was OK to ride my sisters’
Barbie bike and to play Pretty,
Pretty Princess with them and
to love “The Powerpuff Girls”
and, eventually, to look at a
cute boy without a second of
shame.
On the division between
queer and punk cultures
DOMINIC POLSINELLI
Senior Arts Editor
REPRISE RECORDS ‘Fun Home’ creates art
from identity and tragedy
Fun Home Broadway
MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW: ‘SISTER CITIES’
Just a few weeks ago, The
Wonder Years put up a mys-
terious website with a list of
coordinates; these coordi-
nates happened to be the loca-
tion of posters spread across
the globe — from Manhattan
to Dublin to Sydney and many
other places — each contain-
ing a letter spelling out a
password to unlock a teaser
video for their forthcoming
album Sister Cities. In the
video, lead singer Dan Camp-
bell offers a succinct thesis
for their latest work: “It’s
a record about distance, or
maybe how little the distance
matters anymore.”
Last week, the band
released the title track as the
album’s lead single along with
a music video directed by Josh
Coll (formerly of Foxing). The
song explores this idea of dis-
tance and the interconnectiv-
ity of the human experience.
Both in composition and lyri-
cism, The Wonder Years con-
tinue to separate themselves
from other contemporary rock
bands, relaying emotionality
that feels intimate to the lis-
tener but is also immediately
understood to be universal.
Campbell belts out on the
bridge, “I was just mange and
skin and bone / You took me
into your home / Kept warm
on a blanket from your worn
out winter coat,” leaving us
with a hint of the comfort
we experience in the people
around us; reminding us that
negativity and collapse aren’t
permanent.
The video chronicles the
experiences of people staying
at the same motel, mapping
out different emotions in
their separate lives and fol-
lowing the maid who cleans
up the aftermath — there’s
destructive children, lovers
in the bathtub, a duo dancing
in a haze, a couple in a bitter
argument and a family trying
to cope with their displace-
ment by a
hurricane.
Throughout
the video,
shots cut
from delight
and ecstasy
to grief and
anger, a
breathless
whirlwind
of emotions
as frantic as the track itself.
Uniting these scenes in the
common setting of the motel
unites these emotions and
experiences
within all of
us, conveying
the cohesive
essence of
human nature.
Toward the
end of their
teaser, Camp-
bell adds that
the record is
“about how we
all experience grief and suc-
cesses in these alternating
tidal waves of joy and devas-
tation,” a perfect summary
for the theme of their latest
music video. If the lead single
is any indication, The Wonder
Years’s masterful storytell-
ing is taken to new horizons
and even greater heights on
Sister Cities, one with a scope
far vaster than the more per-
sonally oriented narratives
explored on their past few
records.
-Dominic Polsinelli,
Senior Arts Editor
HOPELESS RECORDS
“Sister Cities”
The Wonder Years
Hopeless Records
I’d literally cut my
heart out for The
Wonder Years.
I feel a religious
connection to
everything Green
Day has ever
done.
Punk music let me
know it was OK
to ride my sisters’
Barbie bike and to
play Pretty, Pretty
Princess with
them
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
MUSIC NOTEBOOK