COVER STORY: Skate park punk shows with Shitfire’s lead singer Hannah Blakeman
Queer Kentucky has partnered with Louisville Magazine for our fourth print issue. We asked Louisvillians and Kentuckians at large about their queerness and its relationship to the city, where they feel at home, who was there for them when it felt like nobody else was, the biggest issues facing Louisville’s queer communities, and much more. We would love it if you — whether you live in Louisville or not — would answer the questions too. If you’d like to, you can find the interview here. In this issue, you will find stories of Queer Kentuckians telling tales of their beloved safe spaces, paying tribute to the loved ones who uplifted them when no one else would, laughing about their coming out stories, and so much more. Kentucky, and Louisville, have a lot of work left to do when it comes to embracing the queer community. But hey, it’s not as bad as people think it is. Read on, you’ll see. You can purchase the print version of this issue here.
Hannah Blakeman: Shively, by way of Leitchfield, Kentucky, she/they
Photos by Jon Cherry for Queer Kentucky
Like many Kentuckians, Hannah Blakeman was born and partially raised in a rural area, taught to wear a long and drab Pentecostal skirt in the hills of Grayson County. Now, as a “city rat” in Louisville, Blakeman is the lead singer of the punk band Shitfire. A lot of punk fashion is a rejection of your typical beauty standards, Blakeman says. “I like looking a little unapproachable.”
Besides your own house — or the house of family or friends — what Louisville place makes you feel at home?
Going to shows has always felt like home to me, ever since I was about 15. Just felt like I was among my fellow weirdos. Lots of smiling and fun, lots of emotions being worked through by the performers and moshers. Everyone dresses how they want. I don’t drink, so it also allows me to participate in nightlife without feeling out of place.
The Louisville skatepark — I don’t see it as my home but we chose it for this photoshoot because some very legendary and very DIY punk shows took place here. I’m not a skater, so I don’t want to come across as more chummy with that crowd than I am, but I’ve just kinda loosely been around skater punks my whole life and noticed these parallels over time. Punk shows are space for weirdos in general. Something fascinating is that every skateboarding gay or straight has been called an f-slur at some point in time, and I think a lot of the rejection that skaters and punks have experienced explains why we have so much intersection with the queer community. Rejected people bring in other rejected people to create a community and family. Skateparks have historically been safe spaces for punks and their chosen families. Similar parallels with queer people. Kind of like a vogue house, but flock to a skatepark and punk life. Adults who won’t judge you, but who will support your interests, take you in, give you a safe place to just be.
Straight guys into music who wear skirts and dresses have always been a thing, and the punk scene is where men can dress up and be safe. Lots of dudes in the music scene wear dresses and makeup, and it’s just seen as a dope look, no questions asked.
Having shows at the skatepark makes weirdness and queerness accessible because it’s always open. Well, it *should* be open 24/7. [Rolls eyes.]
Also, punk is so political. You have to decide where you stand real quick on a lot of issues.
Who was there for you when it felt like nobody else was?
Man, I don’t think I’ve ever not had support. I can isolate myself pretty effectively, though. During my darkest moments, when it feels like I am beyond human power, I usually turn to meditation, sometimes prayer. Not sure what’s out there, but I try to tap into it by talking to different types of spiritual people.
Who was the person you chose to come out to?
Probably MySpace! I learned the words bi and pansexual through MySpace and Tumblr. I changed my name to ‘Blake’ on MySpace for a short time, but I got accused of faking all that for clout or some shit by some straight guy friends, so I kinda just let that shut me down for a while because I didn’t have a queer dating history to back me up and I felt not gay enough to even mention it.
I’ve never had a coming-out moment. My mom said she assumed I was queer, but we never re- ally talked about it. I also have only entered into relationships with cis dudes, so there’s probably a lot of people who don’t know I’m queer. I think these sorts of scenarios are probably what lead to a lot of bi and pan erasure in the community. A lot of bi and queer women who don’t have same-sex partners probably feel like they aren’t ‘queer enough’ and don’t want to take away from the experiences of more openly queer people or maybe fear rejection from the queer community. A lot of bi and pan women can end up with men because they’re scared to hit on other femmes because it can be seen as creepy, and it’s hard to know if you are violating that sacred trust between women.
