The fall of 1982 is always the time that I believe was the beginning of my journey into adulthood. It was then that I moved from my bucolic island home on Cape Breton in Nova Scotia and found myself living in the downtown heart of Canada’s biggest city, Toronto. While my purpose for moving to Toronto was to attend university, the professors I had and the courses I studied had little to do with my real education. I grew up into adulthood because of four factors that all had to do with music. Let me get right into that because it dovetails nicely with the subject of today’s post.
My real life education began the very first morning I woke up in my dorm room. Not knowing what to do after waking up alone in this strange room in an apartment filled with people I had yet to come to know, I reached out for something familiar. I turned on the clock radio beside my bed. As a child, I grew up in a home that always had the radio going, especially in the morning as we all ate breakfast. It was on that radio that I grew up listening to the likes of Anne Murray, Hank Snow and Charley Pride. On that first day in Toronto, I reached for the radio not knowing any of the station frequencies. So when I turned it on, I got only static. I turned the tuning dial until something came on. And there I was, sleep still in my eyes at 8:30 in the morning with “Back in Black” by AC/DC blasting out from my little radio!!! I couldn’t believe my ears. The station I had stumbled upon was actually a Buffalo, New York, station, WBEN. But that didn’t matter at that moment. I had only ever heard AC/DC played at parties round midnight. But here I was listening to that boozy, party music to start my day. I hadn’t even had breakfast yet, but I knew that I wasn’t on Cape Breton Island anymore.
The second thing that told me that life was different now was that I suddenly became socially popular. There were lots of mixers at the beginning of the school year as all of the new students sought to get to know one another. Back in high school I was never invited to parties. I was always well-liked but not in “that” way. Thus, I spent the majority of my Friday nights at home with my parents watching the Friday Night Mystery Movie on TV. But in Toronto, I was invited to everything that was happening! And best of all, girls seemed to like me. I had all of the slow dances I could ask for. Girls wanted to talk with me and sit near me. To my nerdy self, it was surprising and amazing all at the same time. After all, I was still the same skinny guy who couldn’t get a date to save his soul on Cape Breton Island. But, once again, my social acceptance signaled in a loud and impossible to miss manner that I may still have been the same person but that the world around me had shifted in a seismic way. The music pulsated, the lights dimmed, the alcohol flowed and I wasn’t alone as much on Friday nights anymore.
The third thing that helped me to realize that my personal world was now part of something much bigger and more varied was something as simple as a haircut. Before moving to Toronto, I had always had short hair. I had always gotten that short haircut at a local barbershop. There was never anything fancy about the barber shop I went to. In the middle of the small shop there was a leather chair that swiveled from left to right and also went up and down. My barber’s name was Jerry. The combs used to straighten my hair were always kept in a jar of bluish liquid. We talked about sports and the weather and maybe the news of the day while Jerry trimmed and snipped away. I can’t remember what I paid, but it couldn’t have been much more than five bucks. There were no appointments to make for next time. Whenever my hair grew past my ears, it would be time to go back to see Jerry and get a trim. There was nothing complicated about it. I just showed up and he always gave me the haircut I needed. Well, four or five weeks after moving into my dorm, my hair grew past my ears. The only problem was that I had no idea where to find “my Jerry” amid the hustle and bustle of downtown Toronto. One day, while wandering around to see what there was to see in the downtown core, I stumbled across a place called The House of Lords that offered hair styling. I had no idea what The House of Lords was. All that I knew was that my hair had grown past my ears and that I needed a trim quickly! So this jean-jacketed, skinny, nerdy 18 year old from Cape Breton walked inside in search of a haircut. As soon as I opened the door I instantly became like Alice in Wonderland. I had never seen anything like the inside of The House of Lords before! It was dark like a dungeon. Music was playing at ear-splitting volume. I later learned that The House of Lords was where rock stars and trendy types came to get their hair styled. You must remember that the early 1980s was the time of punk music, so there were stylists there with spiked mohawk-style hair and others with half of their head buzzed clean and the other half hanging over their eyes like a sheep dog. The early 80s was also the beginning of the hair metal craze. Think of what guys like John Bon Jovi looked like as he was just becoming famous. Well, the other half of the stylists in the House of Lords looked like that. And in walked little old me seeking a trim. I have to be honest, I was scared to be there, but once there, I was too scared to leave. I felt the disdainful gaze of each stylist as I meekly asked for my haircut. I am sure that the one who ended up with me was the one who drew the shortest straw. In any case, we did not talk about sports or the weather or even the news of the day. All I remember is my stylist constantly asking me if I wanted him to do anything “interesting” with my hair and then sighing audibly when I said no, just a trim above my ears please. I remember being charged $25 for the cut when it was done and having barely that amount on me. I am not sure what would have happened to me if I hadn’t had enough money to pay. Maybe I would have been taken into one of the back rooms….and who knows what went on in those secret rooms at the back of the shop!!!??? But what that experience did for me was to introduce me to a whole new world that I had only read about in magazines or seen in movies. For those twenty minutes (which seemed to me like twenty hours) I was surrounded by punks and goths and rockers and, ya know what, I survived. Even though I was definitely not of that world, I was glad for the experience. It helped prepare me for what was to come next. And what was to come next was Carole Pope and Rough Trade!
I distinctly remember the feeling I had upon leaving The House of Lords that day and re-emerging into the sunlight on Yonge Street. I felt different, even though I was still just a Caper in a buttoned up jean jacket. I returned to my dorm room and mulled over what I had seen and heard while my hair was being cut. The sensory experience of it all helped me to better appreciate Rough Trade when I started seeing news stories about the band on CityTV’s The New Music magazine show. In 1982, Carole Pope and musical partner Kevan Staples released an album called Avoid Freud. That album was to become an album of music unlike anything that had been released in Canada up until that date. It contained a song called “High School Confidential”. In order for local radio stations to play that song, a censored version had to be created by Pope and Staples. The bleeping out of certain words and phrases from within the song caused a surge in interest from the record buying public. Avoid Freud flew off of the record shop shelves as patrons sought to hear the true lyrics for themselves. Those lyrics were of an unabashedly sexual nature. The song tells a tale of sexual awakening for a young high school girl for another girl from her school. The object of her desire is a voluptuous vixen who is compared favourably to famous Hollywood sex symbols such as Mamie Van Doren, Anita Ekberg and Dagmar. Sexual consumption and desire drips from every line in “High School Confidential”. It was the first popular hit song that acknowledged lesbians in such a proud, confident, forceful manner. The singer of this song, Carole Pope, was a lesbian herself. Being “out” in 1982 was not the same as being out in today’s world. Back then, many public figures who lived their true lives in non-heterosexual relationships had to hide that fact in order to maintain their professional standing regardless of their career. And yet, here was Carole Pope, often leather clad, holding bondage equipment such as riding crops and whips, singing so proudly about desiring the body of another female. “High School Confidential” was a groundbreaking song in many regards. It helped to shine a very public light on a way of living and of loving that was different, and it did so in a way that made it almost seem sexy and cool. As has repeatedly been shown to be the case, representation matters. In Canada, there were many young people who were questioning their own sexual orientation. It can’t be easy growing up and knowing that your thoughts and feelings don’t seem to mesh with societal expectations. For young folks like K.D. Lang, and later for twin sisters Tegan and Sara, listening to the songs on Avoid Freud made them feel less alone in their world. Knowing that someone who appeared to be as strong and self-confident as Carole Pope could stand up in front of the world and lay her sexual cards on the table helped give them the courage to do likewise as they grew up into adulthood. In many ways, Avoid Freud is just as impactful an album as Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill would turn out to be years later. Strong women can move mountains, as both surely did.
As for me, a song such as “High School Confidential” was more titillating than anything else. It was certainly a song that placed sexual desire front and centre in a way that the music I listened to on Cape Breton Island never would have thought to do. It also advocated on behalf of a community of people who were never viewed as being socially acceptable when I was growing up. I always tell the story of my own experience of bringing an umbrella home with me for the summer while home from university. One day It was raining. My best buddy from highschool and I were heading to town. I took my umbrella, which I had learned to use in Toronto. When I opened it up my friend stopped in his tracks and refused to walk any further with me. He declared the umbrella to be “fruity” and “gay”. I was neither of those things and had simply learned that staying dry was preferable to getting soaked. But none of that mattered. I lost a friend that day. We stayed in touch for years afterward, but things were never the same after seeing how quickly he turned on me, just for using an umbrella, just for appearing to be gay. My experience is nothing compared to the very real danger that many non-heterosexual people found themselves in back then (and, unfortunately, still do today). A simple story of this involves singer Carole Pope.
Unbeknownst to me when I was listening to “High School Confidential” for the first time was that Carole Pope and Kevan Staples were actually veterans of the Toronto music scene. They first started performing together in the same Yorkville folk scene in the late 1960s that Gordon Lightfoot, Neil Young and Joni Mitchell frequented. Rough Trade was actually the third band that the two friends had formed . Not only were they well known in the city as performers, but they both were well known as advocates for alternative sexual lifestyles and regularly performed at events associated with them at a time when those sorts of clubs were kept in secret locations, under lock and key and available to only those promising the utmost in discretion. In every major city where underground alternative scenes exist, there are people who history ends up declaring as being foundational members of such movements. Carole Pope and Kevan Staples were both such foundational members of Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. However, the entire time that Carole Pope was singing under the banner of Rough Trade, she was keeping one thing under wraps. That secret was that she had a lover. That lover was someone who, unlike Pope, was desperate to maintain her anonymity so as not to be exposed as a lesbian and jeopardize her own singing career. That lover was singer Dusty Springfield. You may know Springfield from songs such as “Son of a Preacher Man”, “I Only Want To Be With You” and “Windmills of My Mind”. Dusty Springfield lived the type of life that many of her generation did. She kept her true self from ever becoming known. But when she started appearing on concert bills with Rough Trade as being an opening act or else as appearing as a special guest, many folks found the pairing to be odd. Little did they know how deep the ties really ran.
I don’t live on Cape Breton Island anymore. I have lived almost three-quarters of my life (and all of my adult life) away from there. I believe the experience of leaving has helped me to grow as a person. This is certainly true in how I regard those who choose to love differently than I do. I am a heterosexual male. If I was anything different I would let you know. I don’t view loving differently as being sinful, dirty or an abomination in any way, shape or form. As long as a relationship is built on a foundation of love and trust and consensuality then who cares? Good for everyone who finds true love in whatever form that happens to be. I say all of this because I possess enormous privilege. I can wave my flag of nerdiness and kindness and maleness and heterosexual-ness without fear of who may take offense. There is a terrific freedom in being able to do so. If I was being honest I would go so far as to say that I even take that privilege for granted. But as we all know, not everyone is as fortunate in their privilege as I am. This is one of the reasons why there is the need for Pride flags and crosswalks and a month dedicated to the subject of those who choose to live what is deemed to be an alternative lifestyle. For every brave soul such as Carole Pope who proudly proclaims her orientation and sings songs that take ownership of that conversation, there are many more Dusty Springfields out there living lives of fear and confusion and never feeling as though they can be who they truly want to be in this life. That is so sad. In a world filled with cruelty and injustice, why is compartmentalizing how we love even an issue? There is no right way to love someone. You just open your heart. Who opens their heart in reply and connects with yours shouldn’t matter. Ever. I love my wife and she loves me. I am sure that Carole Pope loved Dusty Springfield and that she loved Carole Pope as well. It is the same love. It should be the same life experience. But sadly it is not. Until it is, songs like “High School Confidential” will continue to be important lifelines for the lonely and the confused. People like Carole Pope will continue to matter to more than just her friends, family and partners. And occasions such as Pride month will continue to be necessary. Happy Pride Month to all who celebrate…including those back home on Cape Breton Island.
The link to the official website for Carole Pope and Rough Trade can be found here.
The link to the official website for Fierte Canada Pride can be found here.
The link to the video for the uncensored version of the song “High School Confidential” by Rough Trade can be found here. ***There appear to not be any lyric videos for this song. Sorry.
The link to a video from the Canadian comedy show SCTV that involves Rough Trade can be found here. In this segment from the show, Rough Trade appear as special guests on a show for pre-teens. They play the censored version of “High School Confidential” at the end of this segment. In my opinion, SCTV was waaaaay ahead of its time in tackling some of the social issues of the day. This skit is perfectly cringeworthy in how it captures the awkwardness of being a pre-teen and the questioning nature of how kids see the world. In an unspoken way, it clearly establishes why bands such as Rough Trade and people such as Carole Pope were important role models back in the day.
***As always, all original content contained within this post remains the sole property of the author. No portion of this post shall be reblogged, copied or shared in any manner without the express written consent of the author. ©2024 http://www.tommacinneswriter.com
I never heard this version before, nor did I know it even existed (and all that comes with it.) While as I am, like you, a heterosexual male, I have always had gay friends of both sexes. In a lot of ways I found them to be more honest than many of my non-gay friends.
I grew up not noticing the differences. I even walked down the streets holding hands with male friends who were gay, watching for the shocked looks on people’s faces — this was 1965. In those days we wanted to shock the straights however we could, and we succeeded.
Nowadays I am glad for all the advances we have made as a species, but I am also wary of the backlash being promulgated by religious fanatics, and Conservative/Republican politicians.
The present Premier of Alberta, one gay-bashing Danielle Smith, disowned her lesbian sister. I met the sister in Vancouver, where she had been told to go so none of Danielle’s colleagues could ever run into her. (I hope you have some readers in Alberta, they should know the truth about the Whore of Alberta who puts politics before family!) (I was going out with the mother of the sister’s partner, so we spent a fair amount of time together for awhile. She, the sister, is everything that Smith is not, friendly, honest, and a hell of a good person! Smith, meanwhile, is a mini-Trump, intent on making Alberta a part of the USA!)
Danielle Smith and all those associated with her are certainly pieces of work. The counterbalance between tyranny and democracy is tilting in the wrong direction because of her and Moe and Poillevre and the rest of the so called Christian right. Scary times. As much as many may be tiring of Trudeau, I fear that the alternative is way worse and that a last stand, of sorts, is fast approaching us all. As for my friends on the LGBTQ spectrum, they are some of the nicest people I know. I am lucky to have them in my life. I wish them well, too. If Trudeau loses the next election, my LGBTQ friends will feel the effects of that change before I do. That is so unfair.
Polievre is defintely a piece of work (not art), but then so was the last PC leader, the one with the phony smile.
I’m thinking Trudeau is getting mighty smug up there, he knows if the Tories get in we won’t last long. If only the people would give the NDP a chance…