“Mighty Real: A History of LGBTQ Music, 1969-2000” by gay music journalist Barry Walters, is a practically comprehensive overview of the presence, the impact and the ongoing legacy of music made by and for LGBTQ folks. Part reference book, part memoir, the rainbow musical spectrum covered is particularly notable. Beginning with groundbreaking artists including Laura Nyro and Lou Reed (along with the Velvet Underground), Walters invites us on this revealing musical odyssey touching on a vast multitude of talent including Sylvester, Elton John, The B-52s, Wendy Carlos, k.d. lang, Bob Mould, Indigo Girls, Bronski Beat, and Dusty Springfield, to mention a few. Additionally, Walters makes a point to include allies such as Cyndi Lauper, Grace Jones, Bette Midler, Patti Smith, Cher, Dolly Parton, and Madonna, as well as influential record labels (Motown and Olivia) and genres (disco, punk, post-punk, and hip-hop). Waltters is clearly deserving of praise not only for his vast knowledge of the subject but also for the way he connects the dots with several artists.
Gregg Shapiro: Did the concept for your book “Mighty Real: A History of LGBTQ Music, 1969-2000” begin with one of the essays (before it became a chapter), or was the idea for the book already fully formed from the onset?
Barry Walters: The book’s inspiration is a departed friend of mine, Vito Russo, and his extraordinary, pioneering 1981 book “The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies.” I fell in love with it when I was a graduate school cinema studies student at NYU and starting my professional career at the “Village Voice.” Through a mutual friend, Steven Harvey – a film critic who wrote in the “Voice” what might’ve been the earliest first-person article written about what it’s like to have AIDS – we met. I sensed that Vito wanted to share with me what he knew and loved while he still could. He’d show me Bette Midler at the Continental Baths, or Babs and Judy dueting on “The Judy Garland Show,” back when footage like that was a coveted, rare treasure. Seen through his eyes, what I’d considered old-hat was fresh and vital. In 1987, he revised “The Celluloid Closet,” and included something I’d written in the Voice about Pee-wee Herman that put him in an LGBTQ context. Vito’s blessing made me feel as though I’d become a serious, legit writer. When he and Steve both died, I felt I had to bear witness because I’d been spared. After I left the San Francisco Examiner in 1997, I tracked down Vito’s agent. He loved my idea about doing a popular music answer to “The Celluloid Closet,” but I didn’t know the first thing about writing a book proposal, so I ran out of money and had to plunge myself back into freelance journalism. But when it became feasible to finally write a book, that’s what I returned to.
GS: Would you say that the book grew out of your advantage of being a music journalist, and getting to interview Patrick Haggerty (Lavender Country), Judy Dlugacz (Olivia), and countless others?
BW: “Mighty Real” was indeed facilitated by several decades of interviewing queer and queer-relevant musicians. I dug up old interview tapes I’d recorded, and some I’d never published, like with Liza Minnelli when she worked with the Pet Shop Boys for her 1989 “Results” album. That was for The Advocate, and I remember my editor liking the piece, but maybe they didn’t sell enough advertising that month; things like that happen with print journalism.
GS: “Mighty Real” reads like a memoir interwoven with history (i.e., the Bowie, Queen, RHPS, Bronski Beat chapters). Was that how you envisioned the book, or did it evolve?
BW: “Mighty Real” is a history book interwoven with memoir. This book has 60 chapters, and in most of those I discuss several acts, so I cover hundreds of queer and queer-adjacent bands, singers, producers, label owners, you name it. I wrote nearly everything for years without using the “I” word at all. But, in one chapter I did write about what it was like reading, as an eleven-year-old, about David Bowie for the first time, and how I learned the word “bisexual” through him. I had to hear whatever that was, so I bought “Space Oddity,” and what followed from Bowie helped me learn about myself. All of us have variations on that kind of story. I realized that if I wrote about mine, the reader might think about theirs. When I chronologically moved through LGBTQ music’s timeline and reached the point where I started writing professionally, I decided to share what it was like, for example, to interview Whitney Houston, and hear her lie about herself, but reveal the truth through her actions. Those chapters gave me the confidence to revisit earlier chapters and sometimes be more autobiographical.
GS: Is one of your goals with “Mighty Real” to inspire readers, especially those new to queer music, to explore artists with whom they might be unfamiliar, for example, Parachute Club, Lavender Country, and Phranc?
BW: Yes. I wrote this book knowing that all kinds of people with all kinds of tastes and familiarity with this music might read it. I tried to select singers and songs that transcend their genre, especially for LGBTQ readers interested in elements of our culture beyond their experience. You might not ordinarily like folk music. You might be, say, a guy who likes synthpop, and you might think you don’t like women who call themselves dykes, but, if you at least look at Phranc’s “I Enjoy Being a Girl” album cover, I practically guarantee that you’ll want to hear what’s inside, and that you’ll find something you enjoy.
GS: Have you heard from, or do you anticipate hearing from, some of the subjects, including Cher, Ray Davies, Patti Smith, Kate Bush, Gary Numan, or Courtney Love?
BW: I hope “Mighty Real” finds its way into the hands of those people, but I didn’t write it for them: I wrote it for us. But before I started “Mighty Real” in earnest, I wrote about Grace Jones just before her memoir was announced. One thing led to another: Grace read the article and wanted me to condense it for her Hollywood Bowl program. I agreed to do it if she’d say hello to me after playing the Fox, because before I die, I had to meet her. As we approached Grace’s dressing room, my husband and I overheard her manager say that Barry Walters was waiting outside. She thought I was someone else wanting to do an interview, and she responded exactly like you’d expect Grace Jones to react. Then her manager said, “No, no, Barry wrote the article I showed you.” Then we hear, “Oh, I love that article!” She then came out of her dressing room completely naked and holding a towel in front of herself, looking for the assistant who had her clothes. My husband found that person, and then she greeted me. I don’t think even my family and friends have been more enthusiastic over something I’ve written. It was surreal. Even as we were leaving, she pointed at me and said, “What you have is special, and you must never stop. Ever!”
GS: Because musical theater is an essential component of queer culture for so many, how important was it for you to work musicals, such as “Kinky Boots,” into the book?
BW: An early draft of the book had a line that said something like, “There’s no point in writing about LGBTQ participation and themes in theater because to some degree, it’s all gay.” That’s an exaggeration, but there aren’t multi-billion-dollar corporations keeping theater actors in the closet and making playwrights avoid gay content or forcing them to write about it only covertly, the way there is in rock, pop, R&B, country, hip-hop, and so on. That opposition, combined with queer kids’ hunger to hear themselves represented, is what creates phenomena like Bowie, and why disco had to be invented. So, I decided only to write about theater if it intersects with popular music in a profound way. Is it genuine rock ‘n’ roll, or pop, or R&B? Was it played on the radio? Did we dance to it? That’s the kind of music theater I include in “Mighty Real.” I have a theater degree, but believe the rest of it is a world unto itself, and deserves its own book, not mine.
GS: In Chapter 22, about the B-52s, you wrote that “As of late 2025…like most queer acts […]” they still haven’t been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Do you think that might change now that an outspoken ally such as Cyndi Lauper has been inducted?
BW: The day after this interview, I received my Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ballot. Melissa Etheridge and Luther Vandross, about whom I write extensively in “Mighty Real,” have been nominated, as they should be, but, once again, not the B-52s. They never have. That goes to show how much anti-gay sentiment still exists in the music industry. I don’t think our ally Cyndi Lauper, as much as I love and appreciate her, can alone change that. We, as a community, must come together to hold those accountable.
GS: Would you agree that, despite the deep, queer roots of the B-52s and the Village People, it’s surprising that their biggest hits, “Love Shack” and “YMCA” continue to be played at straight functions, including weddings and political rallies?
BW: No, I don’t. So much of what our artists created is so strong and universal that I don’t begrudge anyone for enjoying it their own way, even if it was created by and initially for us. I do, however, find it vile that our culture is co-opted and corrupted by those who repress us.
I tried to write about every one of my book’s subjects in such a way that it’s all enticing, no matter if you’re L, G, B, T, Q, or even straight. I want metal fans to read the women’s music chapter and go “Wow,” and hope women’s music fans read about Judas Priest and go “Wow,” because both subjects are awe-inspiring. All great art, even if it springs out of pop culture, transcends. Dolly Parton and Queen are perfect examples.
GS: Chapters 15-18 comprise the disco section, concluding with the homophobic and racist 1979 Disco Demolition that took place in Chicago. Is it fair to say that it’s karma that shock-jock Steve Dahl has been relegated to the dustbin of history while Chicago became the birthplace of house music, one of the queerest and most enduring styles of dance music?
BW: The only reason we’re still talking about Steve Dahl is because he put a face onto musical racism, sexism, and homophobia. Chicago has one of North America’s densest LGBTQ populations, so it makes perfect sense that it would inspire both death-to-disco and disco-lives movements. House music, as you know, was created by overlapping communities of gay and Black people just as disco was. The only white straights initially attracted to it were those eager to attend Black, or gay, or, particularly, Black gay clubs because that was where they knew they could really let loose and shake it.
GS: What would it mean to you if Mighty Real achieved textbook status, finding its way on college syllabi?
BW: All along, that’s been my intention and hope. Through my husband, I have two children, both now adults. My son has a girlfriend, and so does his nonbinary sibling, and she’s trans. I want all of them to know, as well as their children, if they someday chose to have them, why this music and culture meant so much to us. I want today’s kids to know that, too, and learn about what came before them like I did with “The Celluloid Closet.” I want them to feel it, as much as they can, like I did when Vito Russo shared with me what he loved. Because if you have a guide who can inspire both empathy and understanding, that’s when you truly learn.