Beyoncé’s ‘Renaissance’ Is A Joyous, Love-Driven Ode To Black Queerness
During a time when our world was at an unprecedented standstill, Beyoncé took the moment to dig deep into her arsenal. The final product, her seventh studio album RENAISSANCE, is the ultimate conglomerate of her previous musical explorations. It is also a heartfelt homage to one of her most formative influences, his culture, and its soundtrack.
In a post on her website, the megastar dedicated her house-influenced LP to her Uncle Jonny, affectionately calling him her “godmother and the first person to expose me to a lot of the music and culture that serve as inspiration for this album.” She also expressed gratitude to the Black LBGTQ+ legends who influenced her latest soundscape. “Thank you to all the pioneers who originate culture, to all of the fallen angels whose contributions have gone unrecognized have gone unrecognized for far too long. This is a celebration for you.”
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Plenty of Black folks have or know an “Uncle Jonny,” perhaps some more free and fluid than others. From my limited childhood purview, mine has never been able to be fully seen, heard, or understood. Though his slim medium build stood tall at six feet, he remained in the shadows of our local community, only to be discussed within the confines of familial whispers. Yet, on those rare occasions when he did emerge, he was always center stage—a dominating presence that would vogue you down and make you laugh. Learning of his story though, I always wanted more—better—for him.
His story isn’t mine to tell, but I will say that how my family handled queerness led to the complex relationship I had with my own. Talks of anything beyond heterosexuality usually inspired ignorant jokes and misogynistic, unwarranted commentary. Same-sex partners being reduced to “little friends” who weren’t welcomed in communal spaces caused me to remain in the closet, albeit a glass one, until I moved out in my mid-twenties. Moving across the country and living on my own gifted me a taste of freedom.
I wish I could’ve seen my “Uncle Jonny” listen to RENAISSANCE for the first time. I imagine it’d be the same beaming reaction he had when he first watched Pose—as if his inner child was finally able to just be. As he’s gotten older, society has become more accepting and LGBTQ+ representation is more intentional and apparent. Though he still remains to himself, he’s existing happily in the light, in the ways that matter and make sense to him.
Similar to what Lemonade was to Black women, and what Homecoming was to HBCU culture, RENAISSANCE is for the gworls, gays, and theys. It’s an ode to ballroom culture, expounding upon the foundations set for Black LGBTQ+ inclusion in pop culture.
While we can discuss the album’s sonic perfection, seamless transitions or Beyonce’s masterclass in vocal agility, this is one of the few mainstream albums in recent years to evoke Black queer joy on purpose. RENAISSANCE makes people like me want to shake some a**, fall in love, rollerskate, have audacious confidence, and dissociate—all at the same damn time. Despite not having lived through the Studio 54 days, this album allows me to imagine what it felt like to unwind and let my flag fly in those safe spaces.
Since moving, I’ve realized that my closest friends are queer Black men, and I’m convinced it was my luck in life to be surrounded by them. We embody the idea of “it takes one to know one.” We love, protect, and celebrate each other fiercely—plus we make each other feel, even during mundane moments. RENAISSANCE is an extended celebration of that love, bound by the music that allowed us to cultivate community in the first place.
Do you know how it feels to be raised in the church, queer your whole life, and have no shame about being both a saint and a sinner? Or how about how it feels to have your innocence stolen by people who were only supposed to instill the fear of God? I used to attend a prominent megachurch and remember hearing about a particular same-sex relationship with a member and incoming pastor. The repercussions were outlandish and only made me wish people were allowed to lean more into the “God is love” rhetoric than the outdated “standards” that’s led so many down a path of self-hate.
For Black queers who have been ostracized by religious institutions, Beyoncé lifts the burden with “CHURCH GIRL.” The track opens with a word from The Clark Sisters: “Lord, make me/place me/I wanna be centered/centered in thy will…” Toeing the line between being worldly and worthy, the record affirms that we don’t have to make a definitive choice to be either; it’s an anthem about embracing duality.
For those who are “finally on the other side,” “finally found the urge to smile,” and are done “swimmin’ through the oceans of tears we cried,” the song reminds us that we were always doing God’s work.
While the album is full of quotables intended to uplift and provide solace for others, RENAISSANCE also pulls from the growth displayed across Beyoncé’s first six albums. It’s as though she’s collected infinity stones all these years, from the seamless brilliance of B’Day, to the game-changing dominance of Beyoncé, and throughout the unapologetic Blackness of her later works. Graciously, she shares the moment with the queer and trans folks who inspired and contributed to this renaissance, including Ts Madison, Big Freedia, Syd, Grace Jones, Honey Dijon, Moi Renee, Kevin Aviance, Crystal LaBeija—and her Uncle Jonny.
Could this be Bey’s magnum opus? Potentially. Despite all the varying elements that can be dissected on RENAISSANCE, universally, this is Beyoncé’s happiest LP to-date—poetic in a way that allows for Black queer folks to escape to Studio 54. Disco isn’t dead and can’t be taken away. So, stop all the discourse, ignore the vitriol, and allow it to take you all the way, you sexy motherf***er.
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