No, I'm not

A straight Melissa Etheridge fan speaks out

by Theresa Regli

As Melissa Etheridge tore through "If I Only Wanted To" at the FleetCenter last month, an annoying thing happened. I got poked.

The woman next to me had a question. "You made him come to this, didn't you?," she said, pointing at my boyfriend.

"You think I made him come to this show?" I asked, wondering how she could miss his Etheridge T-shirt. She nodded assuredly.

"Of course not," I said. "We're both fans."

As I turned back toward the stage, she poked me again.

"Be honest!" she yelled, with the vehemence of a preacher. "You're going to have to tell him!"

I finally realized what she was getting at. "Um, you've got it all wrong," I assured her. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Sure you are," she said. "You just haven't admitted it yet!"

She cackled wildly, then finally left me alone.

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I've been a Melissa Etheridge fan since the release of her 1988 self-titled debut album. At the time, the disc was a real quirk in my record collection, which was spattered with the cock rock of Led Zeppelin, lots of blues compilations, and more cheesy '80s big-hair metal bands than I care to admit. If there was anything you wouldn't have found on my music shelf, it was chick music.

But when I heard Melissa Etheridge's first album I found a woman I could relate to. Her lyrics told stories I felt I had lived. I remember "Like the Way I Do" blaring from my car as I cruised around Philadelphia in the '79 pea-green Chevy I had inherited from my brother. The song still reminds me of many ex-boyfriends.

With her second release (Brave & Crazy, Island, 1989), I was even more sold on Etheridge. This was a woman who didn't waste time whining -- she just rocked. As the years went by, I remained a fan, but I wasn't obsessive. I never knew much about her personal life, nor did I care to.

I was in Washington, DC, during President Clinton's 1992 inaugural party when Etheridge made the big announcement that she was a lesbian -- and damn proud to be one. Perhaps I'd spent too many years in Catholic schools, because I hadn't had a clue beforehand.

I remember being confused at first. After all, this was the woman who penned the songs expressing how I felt about, well, men. But after a moment it made sense. She managed to write completely gender-neutral songs to which people of any sexual orientation could relate.

Since the announcement, Etheridge has become (with the possible exception of Martina Navratilova) the most widely accepted lesbian in mainstream culture. She has sold more records, by far, than any other out lesbian musician (and more than most straight ones, as well). She has spoken publicly about her eight-year relationship with partner Julie Cypher, and recently announced that Cypher is pregnant.

In the hope of talking with Etheridge about her current tour for One in Ten, I got in touch with her publicist, who basically told me to get in line. Since the pregnancy announcement, she has granted few interviews -- but I still had a story to write. Even though I couldn't talk to Melissa, I could talk with her fans. I figured that in doing so, I could get to the bottom of this "if you're a real fan of Melissa you've got to be a lesbian" thing. So, as I always like to do when looking for opinionated people, I went to an Internet mailing list and asked fans to talk about what Etheridge's concerts and music have meant to them. I was bombarded with e-mail from people both gay and straight.

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For many of the women who wrote, Etheridge's coming out, permanent relationship, and soon-to-be-motherhood have meant that Etheridge has become the role model they've never had. Initially, Susan Budjako, 47, of San Jose, California, resisted going to Etheridge concerts because she feared her own feelings for women. But when she finally attended one, it changed her life.

"At her concert I felt like I had come home," she writes. "I was okay. She kind of gave me permission to be who I am."

Etheridge's concerts have had a similar effect on younger lesbians. Aimee Wells, a 19-year-old from Michigan, said she was comfortable with her sexuality for the first time when she went an Etheridge concert.

"She has been a very positive role model," Wells says. "When I came out to my parents, I offered Melissa and Julie as an example of a lasting lesbian relationship. Now they are going to be parents, and I think it will be easier for other gay and lesbian parents to get the recognition and respect they deserve."

Although Etheridge's concerts have been magnets for lesbians, they still have mass appeal; a Melissa Etheridge concert is likely to draw as diverse a crowd as you can find. For the few brief hours that she performs, the world seems a lot more tolerant. Needless to say, away from the concert venues, life is different; fans report experiences of people rejecting Etheridge's music simply because she is gay. One has a sister who doesn't like Etheridge because "she knows she's singing about a woman," while another tells the story of two teenage girls in a record store:

" `Oh, there's the new Melissa Etheridge album,' one said. `Eewww, you don't like her, do you?' said the second. `She's a queer.' `Really?' replied the first girl. `Eewww!' "

Nevertheless, few longtime fans deserted Etheridge when she came out.

"I think since Melissa came out there has been, among her straight fans, a greater understanding," says New Yorker Diane Boccadoro, 29, who began listening to Etheridge in 1989. "There's been a greater desire to understand that homosexuals are not very different from them."

On a different note, Boccadoro adds: "One thing that did bother me was the number of gays who tried to `claim' Melissa as their own. She was no longer a musician but a gay musician, and to some I encountered, that meant heterosexuals couldn't understand her music or the meaning behind it, even though these people had never heard of her or her music before [she came out]."

But that obviously isn't how Etheridge would have it. When she talks on stage, she doesn't refer to her lesbianism. She keeps her stories open to any sexual orientation and steers clear of politics -- unlike, say, Don Henley or Bono.

Tim Dunker of Neuwied, Germany, has seen Etheridge in concert more than 60 times. In a German radio interview, Etheridge dubbed him her "German superfan." Dunker says that when Etheridge came out he became more impressed by her simply because she doesn't talk about her homosexuality while on stage.

"I am simply thankful for her music," he says. "It gives me a power and strength I can't describe."

And that's the case for many -- heterosexual and gay and lesbian alike. As much as it may continue to disappoint my fellow fans, to me Etheridge's music will always evoke thoughts of men. But isn't that, among many things, what makes her such a great musician?

Theresa Regli is the Internet content coordinator for the Phoenix; she can be reached at tregli@phx.com.