Did you all read Britain’s newest revelations about my identity according to someone named “Ed Potton” from the London Times?
His shit is so chock full of barely concealed homophobia that it’s actually laughable, except that it is pathetic. He pretends to honour my transgenderism by calling me “she” but then moves in with stereotype after homophobic stereotype in his denigrating portrayal of me.
“Ed Potton” looked mortified when, exhausted by his cagey line of questioning, I asked if he was concerned about the future of the environment for his kids. He eventually conceded that yes he was. Yet he relentlessly patronizes me for trying to have a meaningful conversation about that concern. Environmental issues have been the primary focus of my work for the last 8 years. My entire album deals with this subject. Why the fuck did he bother interviewing me if he didn’t want to talk about my work? Instead he comes at me determined to thwart one of the few artists in pop actually trying to address our relationship to environmental issues head on, and he uses the most insidious and time-tested homophobic tools to do so.
The UK newspapers seriously need to update the mentalities of your culture desks. So many of you are still run by a handful of dwindling boys clubs, clinging to the last moments of their 20th Century SWM entitlement. The US is actually ahead of you on this one, Brits. But the sad truth is that you are falling so far behind the rest of the world, and no one is buying your cruddy little articles anymore. I have put up with your degrading shit for too long, urged by record labels not to respond, being reminded that I should be grateful for your attention, no matter how cancerous, but I for one have had enough of it. Get some sensitivity training. Organize a workshop at your newspaper. In fact, organize a series of workshops on homophobia, transphobia and misogyny and make attendance mandatory, especially for all the smug white straight people that think they already know better. Yes, that means you. Goto a PFLAG meeting or something. Just get it together because you are embarrassing yourself if you really think calling me “she” then gives you a free pass to print all this:
“strident” “regal” “something of the Hollywood grande dame” “grandiloquent” “flounc(ing)” “limp” “pale” “enclosed in a frilled sleeve” (addressing) “her pet subject, imminent environmental catastrophe” “imperious” “high, otherworldly vibrato” “wails” “aghast” “guilt-inducing stare” “she says forlornly” “you guessed it – environmental apocalypse” “In the hotel lobby a pianist is playing Let It Go, the Oscar-winning song from Frozen that has become an LGBT anthem. I don’t think it’s in Anohni’s honour — that really would be mischievous.” “a true grande dame”
What a fucking joke.
PS. When I said “That’s not really my thing,” I meant that answering invasive questions was not really my thing. But that seemed to elude “Ed Potton”‘s bright mind.