What influence might artists like Chappell Roan, Billie Eilish and Kim Petras have on our world a decade from now? It’s a legitimate question that could offer hope in these fraught, uncertain times. As Roan challenges expectations by venturing into country music as a gay woman — an evolving genre historically associated with conservative values — she joins other boundary-pushing artists in reshaping cultural landscapes. And then there’s Lady Gaga’s new release, “Mayhem,” which serves as a powerful reminder of music’s ability to create cultural safe spaces. As The Independent recently wrote, “Gaga’s return to outsider-empowering form could not be more timely. At a moment when America’s leaders seek to shove its marginalized citizens back into the shadows, she invites them back into the centre of the floor, celebrating their defiant differences in the bright strobe lighting.”
In today’s climate, where anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric has found renewed prominence in political discourse since Trump’s return to office, Jon Savage’s insights become particularly relevant. The acclaimed British pop culture historian and journalist reminds us that fully comprehending our current circumstances requires us to examine the transformative musical movements that have helped shape LGBTQ+ history and progress. In other words, we need to listen closely to the revolutionary rhythms that will continue shaping the world around us.
When it comes to Roan, Eilish, Gaga and Taylor Swift, Savage suggests a future that would involve more women in leadership roles beyond those in music: “I’m a great admirer. And I would also observe that what’s interesting compared to what it was back in my day is the fact that the cultural leaders are now young women, which I think is very interesting and very positive.”
For now, Savage’s new book, “The Secret Public: How Music Moved Queer Culture From the Margins to the Mainstream,” provides an important historical account of LGBTQ+ treatment and contributions to music — music, he says, often precedes and shapes cultural shifts, particularly for LGBTQ+ visibility and rights. The book succinctly describes itself as “a searching examination of the fortitude and resilience of the gay community through the lens of popular music and culture.” “I think music is ahead of politics,” Savage told me recently. “So what does that mean? It means that music and popular culture can be an antiphony, particularly to oppressive power politics, and that’s why a lot of us love it and are involved because it’s things that you can’t say in the dominant culture, in the world of news, in the world of politics and in the world of, indeed, oppression.”
The term “antiphony” here refers to music and popular culture serving as a responsive counterpart to oppressive systems — creating alternative spaces for expression when mainstream channels are closed off. This concept of call-and-response between power structures and cultural resistance is central to Savage’s analysis of how LGBTQ+ communities have historically used music as both refuge and platform.
The book, spanning 769 pages, is more of a tome — as if to say, there’s no such thing as documenting too much. And now it’s one, he says, that serves a greater purpose as the LGBTQ+ community and our history faces erasure due to the Trump administration. “I could not have seen that this would happen, that this would be the climate that the book comes out in,” he said, adding that its release is “an act of faith” on the part of his American publisher, Robert Weil, the executive editor and vice resident of the publishing imprint W. W. Norton / Liveright.
“The Secret Public” covers a 24-year period, from 1955 to 1979, crucial years in LGBTQ+ history because it was the formalized beginning of a movement for gay men who began fighting for visibility, but, as Savage says, were “treated so badly.” This period encompasses watershed moments like the Stonewall riots of 1969 and the emergence of openly gay public figures in entertainment and politics.
“A friend of mine said to me, which surprised me, ‘You know, you’ve written a very angry book,’ and I thought, well, actually, I probably have.” Savage’s anger, perhaps, reflects the righteous indignation that often fuels social movements, particularly when documenting historical systematic oppression and the creative resistance that emerges in response.
“It is an angry book,” he admitted. “It’s obviously very pro-gay rights and also wishes to point out that LGBTQ+ people were treated appallingly at various parts in our recent history and still are, which is just absolutely unforgivable and still makes me very angry.”
Savage says that growing up in the 1960s and ’70s “was no picnic for me — the shit, really, to be honest.” Fiery emotions, then, seem only natural. But, at the same time, he notes the contradiction that “you had all these fabulous people having incredibly cool self-esteem, which played out by hating themselves because they were gay or becoming alcoholics, just because of stupid prejudice — and that made me absolutely mad.”
Savage’s book opens in November 1955 with Little Richard, who came out and then went back into the closet after becoming a born-again Christian. Savage writes that Richard’s “very appearance and sound made sex and gender difference part of the pop package.”
It goes on to explore Elvis Presley, who took a page out of Richard’s book with his seductive hip gyrations during a time when it was “open season on homosexuals, sex deviates and all those who did not cleave to narrow definitions of normality.”
In the early ’60s, Savage, who says he prefers his pop music in any era to be less ordinary and, instead, “fifth gender from outer space,” found himself deeply immersed in a world that felt both electrifying and liberating. He was captivated by young male musicians with long hair — “looking quite feminine,” he notes — as the British music scene underwent a seismic transformation in 1963, when The Beatles took the country by storm, followed by the Rolling Stones later that year. By 1964, long-haired groups were appearing across the U.K., each one pushing boundaries and challenging the status quo. This cultural explosion mirrored a broader sense of change, as the country saw a gradual but significant shift in attitudes and norms, one Savage calls a “big deal.”
A pivotal moment came in 1967 when homosexuality was partially decriminalized in the U.K., a landmark achievement after years of hard-fought activism. The progress had taken over a decade of agitation, but it marked a tangible victory. Savage saw a deeper connection between the music scene and this legal shift. Many of the long-haired, boundary-pushing groups were led by gay managers, he says, whose influence behind the scenes quietly permeated the music and the cultural sensibility of the time. It wasn’t just about the sounds or the fashion; it was a reflection of an undercurrent of change that helped shape public attitudes.
“People are going to take from it what they want. There’s a lot of material in there,” he said. “I’ve researched it. It hangs together, and it gives this picture where, really, a lot of the people in the book were just very brave.” For Savage, this rebellion wasn’t just about youth or rock ‘n’ roll; it was a battle for human dignity, an effort to open up the conversation about LGBTQ+ rights in ways that hadn’t been done before.
For Savage, the inclusion of David Bowie, a key figure in his narrative, exemplified that kind of bravery. “You know, I include David Bowie in that,” he said, almost as an afterthought, as though his presence in the story was both inevitable and significant. “Bowie has been criticized. But honestly, let me tell you, in the U.K., that was a huge thing for a lot of young LGBTQ+ people. And the gay press of the time really saw him as somebody who’d really also opened the door and was incredibly helpful.”
“It was a mixture of both sincerity and calculation,” he added, noting that Bowie had never been entirely transparent about his bisexuality, but his willingness to embrace the possibility in the public sphere made a difference. As we consider the influence of artists like Roan and Petras, Savage’s assessment of Bowie’s legacy offers a compelling framework: “You judge actions by results,” he concluded.
