Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or in a world free from music publications, to which I say good on you, you are aware that indie-rock supergroup boygenius has released their almost impossibly anticipated debut album The Record. To the delight of Doc Martin wearers and people who tweet “big day for annoying people,” the band, comprised of Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus, reunited five years after the release of their initial EP, a project that started as a one-off single to promote a joint tour the trio was embarking on that evolved into one of the defining acts of the 2010’s scene. When the group debuted they were seen as a refutation of “Women in Indie Rock” during the time of Trump aimed at breaking the reductive labels and boxes we stuff female musicians into, pushing against the patriarchy with 6 songs, a couple of guitars, and a blinding white friendship that tied them all together. After several years apart spending time focusing on their solo careers and one of the boys (Bridgers) achieving near-superstardom, the “supergroup we need” returned to do it all over again, this time as purveyor’s of Queer Joy, that elusive, intangible idea that sounds great on a headline or Spotify playlist title but loses meaning when actually engaged with or confronted.
To hear boygenius described in the almost countless press appearances the trio has made to promote The Record, the three artists are a sapphic Atlas, holding up the weight of everyone’s expectation for them to show us a way through the horrific situations we find ourselves in regarding the rights of women and queer people and provide us with that ephemeral quality of Queer Joy, to not just solve these problems but to be a healing balm as well. To engage with the music of boygenius is unfortunately to have to engage in the narratives surrounding them, a frustrating experience when the music is good enough to stand on its own, and especially when the band itself continually attempts to shirk or evade the very expectations put on them. In the linked article that directly categorizes the band as spreaders of Queer Joy, the group quite literally “reject(s) the notion that their gender or sexuality somehow supersedes their work.” It’s baffling to see these writers not realize that what they are doing by forcing them into this narrative is not much different then the ways that people lumped the trio into the “Women of Indie” moniker, or even worse, the “Sad Indie Girl” archetype.
The Sad Indie Girl is an oft-discussed model, typically used to describe a woman who makes music and plays a guitar while doing so. It feels like every female artist in the indie-scene is lumped into it; musicians like Mitski, Soccer Mommy, Angel Olsen, and all three of the boys are joined together under the title, despite differences in lyrical style, genre, or presentation. Many of the involved parties have spoken out against the labeling; Dacus, who many place on the Mount Rushmore of the Sad Indie Girl, criticized people’s eagerness to commodify women’s pain and create an expectation that they perpetually sing about it. She’s right in saying so, the Sad Indie Girl moniker strips the vibrancy and range of emotion expressed in their music to a single, reductive point, softening the edges and removing any complications or nuance. It’s much easier to obsess over and build an identity around something that doesn’t challenge you, and luckily for those who don’t want to draw the ire of their fav’s, labeling their work as Queer Joy does the same thing.
Of all the words I would use to describe boygenius’ music, the word joy does not come to mind, so I’m still at a loss of how we’ve collectively arrived at this point. Queer Joy in general to me is such a strange concept, just because something is joyful does not mean it is inherently of value. I understand, of course, the power of living a queer, fully-realized life as resistance against those who would rather us be silenced or eliminated entirely, but joy is not resistance - resistance is resistance. boygenius did not set out to make an album about Queer Joy, which is a good thing because to be honest, music made directly in the aim of representation usually blows! To paint over their work with a yassified brush does a disservice to one of the most important ideas The Record presents, that their friendship, their joy, is hard-won. The group reflects on the frightening ordeal of being known: “you might like me less/ Now that you know me so well,” the difficulty of maintaining a relationship: “I guess I did alright considering/ Tried to be a halfway decent friend/ Wound up a bad comedian,” and on how joy, that old lofty concept, is something that they can’t quite reach: “I can’t feel it yet/ but I am waiting.”
I appreciate Bridgers’ take on the matter, believing that “joy is the living amends that you do for your community as a performer,” the way to pay back the queers who fought and died for her to be able to be on stage. I’m grateful that she tries to spread joy through her artistry, catch me at their All Things Go set hopefully having a similar experience to those three strapping young men in the desert, but what I’m wary of is this industry-wide characterization of the group as members of Big Gay. On Bite the Hand, boygenius’ first song off their self-titled EP, the group reflects on the complicated relationships they have with their fans and the expectations people place on them: “But you want what I can't give to you/ Your hands are grabbing while my hands are tied/ I can't love you how you want me to.” From day one the group has chafed against the labels that people have placed on them, and against an industry that puts words in their mouths. The story of boygenius is that at a difficult moment in time, three very young women dealing with isolation and frustrations about the industry found each other and managed to make something special. It’s a story of finding family and stability despite all odds; a story that is queer, joyfully so, without needing extra dressing or narrativizing. Perhaps we should let it speak for itself.