Singer Devonté Hynes’ album Cupid Deluxe was the most queer-friendly non-queer album of 2013.
Domino Records
Every year I get a little more used to the fact that the great majority of our pop culture is not created with me in mind. Queer people interested in connecting with the world around them learn quickly to find bits of it that they can transform into something of their own: a statement of pride, a piece of glamour, a declaration of eternal love. But recent developments in the mainstream popularity of LGBT rights have muddied the waters: artists can now piggyback their way to success on messages of equality packaged neatly for straight audiences. This brings up uncomfortable questions about authorial intent and patronization. For every "I'm Coming Out" or "Thinkin' Bout You," you can point to a "Firework" or "Born This Way" or "Same Love," and while those in the latter group may represent more benefits than burdens in a broad sense, they begin to feel like pandering condescension on their 10th and 100th and 1,000th plays. I've become more cynical about pop music in this way; it takes something special for me to let my guard down, especially if it's coming from an artist who doesn't identify as queer. One album that broke through those defenses this year was Cupid Deluxe, British pop-R&B artist Dev Hynes' second album as Blood Orange.
Hynes doesn't identify as gay — in fact, his girlfriend, vocalist Samantha Urbani, performs on over half of Cupid Deluxe's 11 tracks. But his music and lyrics have a fluidity that allows queer listeners to connect rather than infer connection without Hynes himself pushing a forced "gay anthem," and his interaction with the subject is remarkably respectful, almost reverent. This isn't something new for the singer; Hynes' first album as Blood Orange, 2011's Coastal Grooves, was dedicated to the trans performer Octavia St. Laurent, who was featured in the seminal 1990 documentary Paris Is Burning.
Hynes has also spoken at length about the inspiration he derives from the queer culture of decades past, and more specifically the ball culture that sprung out of New York City in the 1980s. (Like this, from an interview that ran in design magazine Apartamento's November 2012 issue: "I'm just in awe of the early 80s gay culture in New York — the ball culture, what they created, how they expressed themselves... imagine how difficult it would have been to be black and gay, or black and transgender 30 years ago in New York. They had so much against them, but they managed to create something so beautiful. I find that bravery really inspiring.") Even Hynes' sexuality manages to defy expectations tied to the standard gay/straight binary: He dabbled in gay sex as a teen before deciding it didn't take, and discussed his attraction to trans women in an April interview with Slutever, couching the conversation in concepts that are a little more nuanced than a straightforward comparison of bits and bobs.
How does Hynes incorporate that nuance into the world of Cupid Deluxe? As Ryan Dombal pointed out in his Pitchfork review, there's an obvious reference in the title of one of the album's highlights, "Uncle ACE," named for the New York City subway lines that share the IND Eighth Avenue Line through Midtown Manhattan. The trains, which run from the northern reaches of Manhattan through to the furthest reaches of Queens, have been given the titular nickname by NYC's homeless youth, many of whom identify as queer. It's a thoughtful hat tip, one that betrays a little more depth than your standard vague pop star platitudes about equality and freedom, and it's given voice by a sparky little funk riff and lyrics that allude to trans prostitution, fear, and emotional hollowness: "Not like the other girls / Go home and wait for me / I'll be there after 5 / The others got that V." But Hynes has more impressive tricks up his sleeve, as he transcends direct reference by making skillful use of theme, structure, and sound on the rest of Cupid Deluxe to honor queerness in a tender, touching way.
