Janelle Monáe is the icon the LGBTQ community deserves

She is standing at the top of a pearly white set of front angled stairs. The crowd at San Francisco’s The Masonic auditorium roars beneath her. Just half an hour ago, Janelle Monáe seemed cooler than ice. In her glossy white and red trench coat standing at the center of the stage, she  seems untouchable. Going into the show, I was not sure who was going to make an appearance; Cindi Mayweather, the android alter-ego she inhabited at the release of her first EP Metropolis: Suite I (The Chase) (2007), or Janelle Monáe, the mind behind the elevated sounds and concepts of an afro-futuristic dystopia. Behind her hexagonal glasses with circular frames, her eyes crinkle with emotion.

“Coming here tonight, I have never felt so much affirmation,” says Janelle Monáe.

At her San Francisco stop of the Dirty Computer Tour on June 16, her stage is big enough for both.

In general, Monáe’s stage is considerably minimal. Other than the three sets of white stairs, one for her and her dancers and two for her band, there isn’t anything else on stage; Monáe and her team don’t need extravagant sets and props. Despite being only five feet tall, Monáe seems larger than life. There’s something about her presence that simply oozes star quality. The rest of her team’s presence and talent are enough to fill the entire venue. At any moment, it is difficult to decide where to look. Her dancers carry themselves with a blistering confidence and aura that makes it hard to refer to them as “backup” dancers. Her lead guitarist often runs down to the front of the stage to deliver amazing solos and most impressively, her two keyboardists who also play guitars and brass instruments throughout the set. It would be easy for anyone else to be drowned out in all of the commotion, yet Monáe effortlessly stands out.

Seeing her live makes it easy to understand why an icon like Prince would take her under his wing. It’s one thing to make such unique and influentially diverse music, but it takes a whole other set of skills to deliver that music in an effective and accessible way. Monáe is well on her way to becoming a master of both.

Artists like the Beatles, George Clinton, David Bowie, Stevie Wonder, Jimi Hendrix, Grace Jones and, of course, Prince laid a fertile foundation for new musicians to build on. They posed questions with their music and visual concepts. So far, no one other than Monáe has been brave enough to attempt at answering those psychedelic questions. But that bravery has not come without a price. While she has garnered attention from critics and her peers, mainstream success has escaped Monáe with her past two albums. Dirty Computer (2018) has begun changing that without sacrificing creativity.

It has only been four months since Janelle Monáe announced that she would be releasing new music in April of 2018. What happened next felt like a whirlwind. She lit up the internet when she dropped the single “Make Me Feel” and its accompanying music video. The neon and retro style video featured actress and friend Tessa Thompson as one of her love interests, which prompted the internet to credit the single as a “bisexual anthem.” She also released a second single  “Django Jane,” along with its music video. The singles and music videos for “Pynk” and “I Like That” came soon after. These were all in anticipation to the release of her 45 minute Emotion Picture for “Dirty Computer,” which premiered on BET the eve of her album release date. But just days before the album and film’s release, Monáe came out as a “queer black woman in America” in her interview with Rolling Stone.

With three albums and a devoted fan base under her belt, Monáe soared closer into the mainstream at a time when it needed an artist like her the most. With the LGBTQ+ community often latching onto straight white pop artists, the prospect of Janelle Monáe, a pansexual woman of color, becoming a gay icon was exhilarating. By the release date of Dirty Computer, it seemed that Monae became just that.

In her music video for “Pynk,” the main visual motif was something that the internet deemed “vagina pants.” The single and video celebrated womanhood in all of its forms. The video included dancers without the vagina pants to emphasize that womanhood and having a vagina are not mutually exclusive. Monáe is not only inclusive of everyone in the LGBTQ+ community, she also is a reflection of the community she helps represent.

Monáe uses her rare moments of downtime as opportunities to deliver messages of inclusivity and activism. In these instances she is purely Janelle Monáe. She takes her glasses off, which have become a medium she uses to channel between Cindi and herself. These messages are sincere, but also seem to be following a calculated narrative. She starts off with assuring the audience that this is a safe space where everyone is welcome.

“Embrace the things about yourself that make you unique, even if they make others uncomfortable,” she says surrounded by her dancers. For Monáe, the fear of being one’s true self is something she’ has spoken publicly about during her promotion for the latest album.

“When I released this project… I didn’t know what my family was going to think,” she says to the crowd. “I didn’t know what my friends who I grew up with in Kansas City, Kansas were going to think. I didn’t know what you were going to think.”

Throughout the show she makes sure to emphasize that she believes in, “Freedom over fear.” Monáe wants her fans to be emboldened to be themselves, but she also wants them to put in the effort to foster a society where they can do so safely.

“As we fight for LGBTQI rights. As we fight for women’s rights, immigrant rights, minority rights, disabled rights, lower-class rights. People like my parents, your parents, who are the reason we are standing here today,” she says. “We must remember what we are fighting for. Remember, we are not alone. And we will get to victory. It’s a cold cold war. Know what you’re fighting for.”

Her whole discography can be viewed as a parallel to this narrative. On Metropolis, the ArchAndroid (2010), and the Electric Lady (2013), Monáe chose to use her alter-ego as a way to shed light on issues that are important to her and her fans. On Dirty Computer, Monáe is speaking on the issues as herself, encouraging others to do so as well. Janelle Monáe, intentional or not, is creating a movement through meaningful music.

Maybe that is why the Dirty Computer Tour feels like so much more than a concert. It feels like being a part of something bigger. San Francisco’s crowd is proof that Monáe’s movement is indeed in motion.

For the final song of the night, “Americans,” which is also the final track of Dirty Computer, the epicness of the night rises to a peak. The music shimmers like glitter over the audience and Monáe stands front and center. The words from a sermon by Reverend Sean McMillan, featured on the song, blare throughout the Masonic.

“Until women can get equal pay for equal work

This is not my America

Until same-gender loving people can be who they are

This is not my America

Until black people can come home from a police stop without being shot in the head

This is not my America, huh!

Until poor whites can get a shot at being successful

This is not my America”

Below her are people of all ages, sizes, colors, orientations and backgrounds. Smiles wide and arms up in the sky, towards a more inclusive and diverse future. Monáe looks out over the crowd and mouths Reverend McMillan’s concluding words.

“But I tell you today that the devil is a liar, because it’s gon’ be my America before it’s all over.”

She really means it.

Written by Rebekah Gonzalez

Design by Jessica Tin