SOPHIE's “Immaterial” Altered My Perceptions of Queerness

The late producer defied genre and gender in groundbreaking ways.

With SOPHIE’s tragic death in Athens, Greece, on Saturday, January 30, 2021, the producer leaves behind a lasting impression on the face of pop music that can never be erased. SOPHIE pushed the boundaries of pop in provocative, fearless ways. From synthesizers reminiscent of tires speeding along asphalt to sound effects evocative of a bubbling cauldron, SOPHIE drew inspiration from the mundane and made otherworldly, forward-thinking music which provided a safe haven for queer pop enthusiasts, especially trans people. As a person who only began identifying under the umbrella of queer last year, I fluctuate between the states of assured and disheartened when thinking about my sexuality and how it intersects with my Black womanhood. However, “Immaterial,” from SOPHIE’s album OIL OF EVERY PEARL’S UN-INSIDES, serves as my remedium when I question my queerness within the context of a world that doesn’t accommodate me.

Someone incredibly close to my heart—so close that they can cradle it in their palms—wielded their tongue like a knife and stabbed me with it. During a discussion with this loved one, they mentioned a mutual friend’s father, a cis man who married a cishet woman but revealed himself as bisexual while on his deathbed. My loved one, under the assumption that I’m straight, inserted their unneeded commentary into the conversation. “If you wanna be a freak, don’t lie about it,” they said. Over six months later, the sentence continues to reverberate around my head. This loved one bathed their so-called support of the queer community in blatant queerphobia. On the surface, they advocate for a person to live as their truest self. However, they deride that same person in the same breath, branding them as a freak to emphasize how different they are from the “norm.” This loved one remains unaware how they cut my heart, letting it fall into the pit of my stomach. As I spent the rest of my day in a seemingly permanent melancholia, I tried to save what remained of my heart. I also wondered: What would happen if this loved one discovered that I existed outside the norm? Would they accept me with open arms and ignore their bloody history of queerphobia, or would they call me a freak to my face? No matter the answer, my heart hasn’t made a full recovery.

Exactly one year before SOPHIE died, a couple of close friends took me on an adventure to a local dive bar, where I “came out” to them as bisexual in an inebriated haze. (A year later, I recognize “coming out” as a social construct that serves way more harm than good, hence why I placed it in quotation marks in the previous sentence.) I don’t recall what motivated me to finally voice my sexuality aloud that night. Silence pervaded much of my life. Despite not being religious fanatics, my parents enrolled me in a Christian school, a place where I spent most of my formative years. I remember the first time I thought of someone other than a guy in a romantic way. Bone-chilling fear ran down my spine. I suppressed the thought. I locked it away, intending to never unpack it. I spent years upon years repeating this cycle of shame to appease the white-supremacist rewrite of Jesus which has Black people ill with the religious equivalent of Stockholm Syndrome. I lost years of expressing myself openly and wholly. At a time where a global pandemic has swallowed this country and my early twenties whole, I still can’t act on my queerness in ways preferable to me. I remain stuck in a household with queerphobia lurking around every corner, no matter how much the people within it reiterate their “tolerance” and decry that only God can judge. Thus, I frequently deride myself as only being queer for the internet.

However, without fail, SOPHIE manages to rescue me from myself and this environment. For almost four minutes, “Immaterial” eliminates the boundaries placed upon me by myself and the people in my peripheral. When vocalist Cecile Believe croons, "With no name and with no type of story, where do I live? Tell me, where do I exist," I am transported to SOPHIE’s vibrant imagination. The confines of race, gender, and all other compounding identities that inform life on Earth fade into nothingness. I transcend the consequences of simply existing as a Black, queer woman at the same time. I never have to choose between my identities, placing one over the other, nor does my chest sink with the heaviness the world has instilled within it. I twirl on cumulous clouds. I touch the cosmos. I dance along to bouncy synthesizers reminiscent of Rainbow Road. According to SOPHIE and Believe, "I could be anything I want" in this space. Every time I hear that glorious escape of a song (rooted in abandoning the gender binary), I believe it. I believe it.

SOPHIE defied the constructs of genre and gender. Friends and collaborators who have eulogized SOPHIE in articles, Instagram posts, and tweets noted the late producer’s fearlessness. SOPHIE dared to embrace their entire being through their art and other forms of expression, inspiring other queer folks such as myself to do the same. Because of SOPHIE’s artistry—because of “Immaterial” itself—I stop hoping to be anything that I want. Instead, I know that I too can embrace my whole being as unapologetically as SOPHIE did. One day, my heart will be whole.

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