BEYOND THE BOOTH # 5: flared bass

Flared Bass here. A friend has been trying to get me to do a daily gratitude journal. Since it’s Pride, I thought I might list some of the things I’m grateful for as a queer DJ.

First and probably most obvious, I’m grateful to be a DJ. I’m incredibly lucky that I get to do something professionally that I am both passionate about and great at. I dedicate a lot of time and energy to refining my craft and hunting for tracks. I’m especially grateful that I get to spread joy through what I do. Love is the message.

I’m grateful for all music but especially dance music. The kind of music that moves both body and soul. And I’m so thankful for all of the contributions made to it by queer artists. The history of electronic dance music is inseparable from LGBTQ+ history. House music — the foundation on which virtually every form of club music rests — was born in the Black and Latino gay communities of New York in the 1970’s and Chicago in the 1980s. DJ Frankie Knuckles, a gay Black man from New York, became the genre's architect at the Warehouse club, spinning records that blended disco, soul, and synthesized beats for a crowd that was largely queer and marginalized. He learned his craft from the legendary Larry Levan, another gay Black DJ and resident at the Paradise Garage. This music has long offered something that mainstream culture refused to: a place to belong.

I’m grateful for sonic sanctuaries like The Ellis. Queer friendly spaces have been where people could congregate openly, express their identities, grieve collectively, and organize politically. That meaning hasn't disappeared. Despite enormous legal and social progress in many countries, LGBTQ+ people — particularly transgender individuals and queer people of color — still face elevated rates of harassment, violence, and exclusion. Research consistently shows that access to affirming social spaces correlates with better mental health outcomes for LGBTQ+ folk.

Lastly, I’m grateful to be a part of a history and a community that is bigger than myself. Today, when a Pride festival stages a queer DJ set, when a chart-topping pop song borrows from voguing or ballroom culture, when trans and non-binary artists headline festivals, it is worth pausing to trace the line back. The mainstream borrowed — often without credit or compensation — from communities that built these sounds out of necessity, joy, and defiance. Honoring that legacy means more than nostalgia. It means supporting LGBTQ+ venues, amplifying queer artists, and understanding that the dance floor has always been, for many people, a matter of survival as much as celebration.

Happy Pride!