People who put ketchup on hot dogs and people who think those people are insane. People of all ethnic backgrounds and races. There are gays, lesbians, transgender folks, bisexuals and even some straight allies in here. There are jocks, nerds, artists and corporate types. All I had to do was lift up the flap and walk myself in. It took two decades, but I finally realized that this community is the biggest, most colorful tent in the world. When I started performing under my own name in 2016, I decided to go all in, and for the first time wrote relationship songs with “he” pronouns.Ī post shared by Mike Maimone fans singing along at my shows, and seeing new listeners’ faces light up when they heard me deliver proudly gay lines, made my heart overflow, finally, with acceptance. Interestingly, the more I put myself out there, the more people were responding. And it remains the most popular record that my trio released.
I wrote those songs in anticipation of the inevitable – coming out to my family. While on tour supporting our second LP, Separation Anxiety, I started performing as an openly gay man, telling the stories of the songs on stage and in interviews. Most were lyrically veiled and delivered via screams so that listeners could headbang along without really questioning the meaning.Īn early Mutts track said, “we float, cigarette ash on a breeze / burn holes wherever we land / some folks got more than they can stand,” about my early, secretive sexual encounters with other men.īut as I opened up to my band mates, and then other musicians, and then some college friends, I began to realize something: I was isolating myself. My emotions resulted in some pretty heavy songs. In 2009 I started my first band as the front man, a garage rock trio called Mutts. I had moments of great loneliness, so I put all of my focus into making music. But in my limited understanding of the gay scene, I felt like I didn’t have anywhere to turn there, either. Throughout my life I struggled to find my footing, and I couldn’t find my place. Something about the bass-in-your-face of the club scene gives me anxiety. If I’m going out, I’m in t-shirt-and-jeans, having a beer at a bar while watching a game or listening to rock and roll at a volume appropriate for conversation. I felt very intimidated, and as soon as I walked in… I walked right back out.Ĭall me boring, I don’t care. That was the first time I set foot in a gay bar. After that band broke up, I headed to Portland to play in a new band. So I quit and moved into an apartment with my college band in Chicago. Late bloomer? What can I say?Īt 24, I decided that I didn’t want to get too comfortable in my corporate job.
But once I was outside of the influence of my family, my friends and my Catholic upbringing, my true self started to emerge.
Everything in my upbringing had fought to steer me in a hetero-normative direction. In my early 20s, while working as an accountant in Cleveland, I finally realized that I was gay. I didn’t have the quick wit of the truly bright kids I had to work a little harder for my grades. Yet I didn’t really fit in with the smart kids, either. So I focused on school and graduated with honors. I tried out for football and lacrosse at Notre Dame I was cut from both teams. I was good at sports, but not a superstar. But I was clearly awkward about it, and I didn’t really fit in. I dated women because that’s what the guys I spent most of my time with did. Although I was team captain, my football teammates would tease that I was afraid of girls. In high school, they jokingly called me Oz, after the sensitive jock from American Pie.
Registration is free, and you can REGISTER HERE. Join Outsports at New York City Pride on June 24, 2020, for a special Storytelling Hour and social event.