"We Provide a Place to Not Be Okay": Emotional Labor in Performance and Queer Amateur Music Spaces

September 2017. A queer open mic in Oakland, California. A voice from the front shouts, “Welcome . . . your girl . . . Sanaa!” A queer Black femme takes the stage. The audience of twentyfive LGBTQ folks, women, and people of color clap hands, stomp feet, whistle, and yell. We sit in black folding chairs we set up an hour before. A floor lamp in the back casts light onto Sanaa’s face. In a husky voice, Sanaa says, “I just wanna talk to you for a minute, no biggie, no thang.” Sanaa prepares us for their rant—an improvisatory speech. Weeks ago, Sanaa sang a song a cappella about their fear of singing in public. Tonight, Sanaa rants. “Trigger warning: depression, anxiety . . . accountability . . .” We laugh at the flippant trigger warning. Our laughs interrupt them before they add, “. . . and not being okay.” We make noises of understanding. “You know, I be around here, I love you all day long.” Sanaa’s voice brightens. They shake their head and close their eyes. Applause affirming love and validation answers Sanaa. They quip, “Yeah, I’m the first to hoot and holler for all your queer asses. I’m the first to give a hug.” More applause, longer and louder. “But . . .” Sanaa straightens. Their hand chops through the playful facade with each syllable “. . . a bitch has not been okay! I am not okay.” Sanaa’s eyes pierce the narrow gap in front of the first row.