Featured Essay: Songs To Vibe And Be Trans To

by mk zariel

It may not come as a surprise that some of our first records of trans culture (and conversely, of transphobia) involve a DIY music scene. According to scholar Lynn E. Roller’s 1999 book In Search of God the Mother: The Cult of Anatolian Cybele, the Gallae–an ancient Greek religious sect mostly populated by transgender women who worshiped a canonically transfeminine goddess and even supported one another in medically transitioning–were known mainly for their love of loud and disruptive music, with writings of the time stating that the “Gallai of the Mountain Mother clash their instruments and bronze castanets.” Clearly, after thousands of years of trans culture, not much has changed; while we may no longer have many trans deities to worship (and yes, I fully expect pedantic Discordians to debate this in the comments), we still survive bias and state repression through the culture we build around music. Indeed, it is easy to forget that the Stonewall riots did in fact take place at a music venue–and many queer liberationist movements, including the much-beloved BashBack! tendency, came out of punk subculture. In these times of fascism, we need a little trans joy, a little inspiration, songs we can mosh to and cry to and even find relatable. So, like the Gallae before me (okay, that’s a high bar, but still), I’d like to share my recently created Trans Joy Mixtape.

Evan Greer - she/her/they/them

In an era where Evan Greer dominates every conversation if you’re cool (and yes, I’ll take the time to shout out AMAB/ACAB and suggest that everyone take a listen), a little archival work of hers provides a spark of joy–especially an album that begins with a love song to a gender-nonconforming transmasc and wraps up with the artist declaring herself a “drag peasant.” While heavy topics such as state repression (“Queen And Empire”) and compulsory education (“Liberty Is A Statue”) come up, most songs combine a robust anarchist politic with considerable whimsy and joy. Overall, the album evokes the kind of anarchist future that is easy to dream of, one that is self-aware and doesn’t take itself too seriously, one that prizes care over hard political lines, one where queer joy is always centered.

Dream Nails - Doom Loop

“I need Tia Maria in a Subaru / I wanna stick together like superglue / Trash TV for hours and hours / Eat in bed, smoke in the shower” sing Dream Nails on “Ballpit,” the first single off their album Doom Loop, and the rest of the album continues in the same spirit. If she/her/they/them is an album for intellectually rich trans revolution, Doom Loop is for the inevitable trans hedonism that follows–more Jean Genet than Mary Nardini Gang, but anarchic nonetheless. Dream Nails, a London-based and femme-fronted band that describe their work as “witch punk,” bring a sense of humor and whimsy to topics like performative allyship (“Good Guy”) and transmasculine lesbianism (“Femme Boi”), with most songs telling wholesome and indulgent queer love stories and leaning hard into gender euphoria. It won’t give you any new insights into anarchist politics (other than perhaps validating your egoist or insurrectionary views, if you really want to play that card), but maybe that’s a good thing. There are thousands of cis teens jamming to rock songs about girls, parties, and uncomplicated good times–and, hell, trans kids deserve that too.

Apes Of The State - What’s Another Night?

“We’ve made it all these years, so what’s another night?” sing Apes Of The State, welcoming an album that honors both trans trauma and resilience. This project deals with much darker themes than Doom Loop or even she/her/they/them; thus, its anarchism is darkly communal rather than hedonic (in the manner of Dream Nails) or hopeful in spite of considerable nihilism (a la Evan Greer). Apes Of The State, a folk-punk act known for songs such as “Girl From Rhinelander” and “They Can’t Kill Us All,” use their lyrics to tell stories about people and communities weathering times of crisis through collective care, DIY media, and queer culture. What’s Another Night? is darker and more cerebral than their other releases, leaning less on humor, but remains an appropriate album for those in need of hope in an increasingly fascistic world.

Blackfire - One Nation Under

I couldn’t write a piece about queer joy in music without paying tribute to Klee Benally–may he rest in power–and highlighting his band Blackfire. Whether you’re familiar with Benally’s other projects, such as Indigenous Action Media and Taala Hooghan Infoshop, or just need a little joyful militancy in your life, One Nation Under is a must-listen. Each song is a vicious critique of societal ills, going further than she/her/they/them or even What’s Another Night? in its political message, but its sense of momentum in the direction of anarchism is just as fierce and unapologetic. The last song, “Downfall,” implores listeners to dream toward a better society even when state repression feels too intense to bear: “Interrupted prayers behind closed doors / Sheltered by your reality/ What is the future if it’s made from wars? / How can you live your life on your knees when you know the truth that will set you free?” Thus, Blackfire’s central point is not just that trans people deserve a little teenage fun (as in Doom Loop) or even that anarchist futures in our lifetimes are possible, but that the hope of a truth that sets us free never leaves us–that as long as our communities exist, our hopes should too.

As for me, I’m not necessarily hopeful about trans liberation in our lifetimes; I’m just a mildly burnt-out organizer who needs a little joy once in a while. My friends joke that joining anarchist groups is my stress response, and if you read my bio or hear my podcast, you’ll see that by that metric I’m pretty darn stressed. But if there’s one thing that gives me hope under fascism, it is the presence of radical art, from the fun and flirty side of queercore to the politically sharp and defiantly hopeful. Trans people have taken inspiration from music since early human history, and to survive these times, it’s necessary that we continue to.

mk zariel {it/its + masc terms} is a transmasculine neuroqueer theater artist, Best Of The Net and Monarch Award nominated poet, movement journalist, and BashBack aligned anarchist translocally rooted in the Great Lakes region. the author of VOIDGAZING (2026, Whittle Micropress) and BOY APPARITION (2025, Vinegar Press), it creates conflictual spaces for trans survival and queer desire—spaces of insurgent genders, mutual aid beyond the nonprofit gaze, and the kind of care that negates (and negation that provides care). BashBack! remains close to its heart, as do anarchonihilism/egoism, experimental theater, and the defiant tenderness of queer collectivity. mk’s organizing is often underground, but its poetics and podcast crackle with the same unruly energy: community as generative+atemporal destruction, poetry as direct action. Oh, and according to anarchistnews.org—“zariel quotes the Principia Discordia, which is kind of funny” and “what is explicitly said about chaos is…fine?”.

Its writing has appeared in Querencia Press, Akpata, J Journal, Witches Magazine, Fifth Estate, ANMLY, OurLives Wisconsin, Library Of Eris, Oyster River Pages, and Seattle Journal of Social Justice, among many others. It contributes columns to Asymptote and the Anarchist Review of Books, its mixed media work is featured through Open Sorcery, and it authors the advice column DEBATE ME BRO and hosts the podcast THE CHILD AND ITS ENEMIES. it has also collaborated with Urban Ganges on a line of themed reed diffusers. mk is the author of eleven self-published zine projects, and performs regularly at anarchist gatherings, zine fests, and queer liberation events. You can find its offerings, commissions, and chaotic love letters to the world at mkzariel.carrd.co.