Ode to Patrick Haggerty
Ode to Patrick Haggerty
A hero in music and life, a self-described “screaming, Marxist bitch”
As we read/write/listen, a bunch of people are in Bremerton, Washington, having just celebrated the life of musician, activist, and anti-fascist rabble-rouser Patrick Haggerty.
Patrick is best known for creating what’s known as the first ever openly gay country record, Lavender Country, in 1973. You might ask yourself, Can a record, which isn’t a person, be gay? The answer, shown clearly and proudly by Lavender Country, is yes. The album is gorgeous, whimsical, serious, energetic and worthy as music regardless of and even more so in light of its social importance.
Before Patrick and his collaborators made Lavender Country, he volunteered in Cuba, joined the Peace Corps, and got kicked out for, in his words, “sucking dick.” In the decades since, he raised two children, ran for public office, performed country standards for countless senior home inhabitants, and married one of the most beautiful, light-filled human beings ever, JB.
Maybe the most awe-inspiring accomplishment in Patrick’s storied life was his restarting of Lavender Country some years ago after a Paradise of Bachelors reissue of the album, playing shows around the country with local pickup bands made of acolytes, often led by his adoptive grandson of sorts, Jack Moriarty. I say this was one of his greatest accomplishments not because it’s hard to tour (it is, at Patrick’s age and any age), but because of the way he kept on listening to the young people who loved his music.
The world never stopped changing since Patrick first dedicated his life to celebrating with and fighting for gay people and working people. Language changed, trans people became more visible (though Patrick had always included them in his work), and the needs and desires of myriad different groups evolved. Through it all, Patrick taught himself, kept on listening, kept on respecting the people he set out to help self-liberate. I look up to him for that. How many pioneers have we seen grow curmudgeonly, looking down on newcomers because they can’t possibly understand the hellish obstacles they themselves overcame? Patrick wasn’t that type of pioneer. He was a door-opener, an accomplice, and a jailhouse-burner through his last days.
In 2021, Patrick brought his rebooted Lavender Country to Chicago and Milwaukee to headline the Cosmic Country Showcase, backed by a band of Jack Moriarty, Sully Davis, Dorian Gehring, Sophie Sputnik, Colin Croom, and me. We played at The Hideout and Cactus Club. Adoring fans of Patrick and the Showcase came to listen raptly to his stories and dance to his songs. JB, in his seventies himself but spryer and a better dancer than anyone in the room, would often join with the audience, or dance with Patrick during a set, while shirking the limelight for himself.
I remember walking in to rehearsal at Foxhall Studio before these shows and Patrick kind of staring me down. Not in an unfriendly way. On the contrary: I think Patrick looked at any new person in a room and tried to fully take them in, recognize what was sexy about them, and, of course, to see and appreciate their soul. Patrick could talk, and he talked a lot, but as I say, he also listened and watched.
Lavender Country has resonated with people not just because it speaks of Patrick’s life and his struggles, but because it speaks of anyone who is sensitive and hurt by “straight white patterns.” The whole world, truly, is damaged by mangled, malformed versions of masculinity, and by white supremacy. Even if you don’t wear a “frilly blouse,” and especially if you do, you can come to need commiseration, understanding, and conspiracy from people like Patrick who see these dynamics and can rally us into action.
When the band caravan headed up to Milwaukee to play at Cactus Club with Patrick and Jack that fall, Patrick rode in my car. Dorian had already put his stuff in my passenger seat, but moments before we loaded out, Patrick took his spot, got in without discussion or worry, the way some sure-headed, older folks sometimes do: I’m riding with him.
Outside the car, JB and Sully looked at me as if to say, “You sure you’re cool with this?” They knew it would be a talk-heavy session of regaling with stories. I told them uncertainly, “I think so.” I should’ve unequivocally said yes. It was a wonderful ride. I learned more about Patrick’s childhood, his time in Cuba, and about his son, whom he co-parented with a lesbian woman, and the pain they faced, as a family, in a racist school system.
By the way, Patrick’s life and the joy he was able to spread to others was facilitated by the love and support of his family when he was a child. His parents were Catholic but they reasoned that God loved everyone. God loved them, God loved their son. So God would not want them to stop loving their son. In 2014, Patrick told Pitchfork, “I like to say the reason that I made Lavender Country when I made it was because my dad said I could.” Patrick paid that unconditional gift forward.
We miss you in Chicago and beyond, Patrick. We love you, JB.
—Spencer
Further Patrick reading: Leor Galil’s profile from 2014
A thoughtful, sweet remembrance. I am always so appreciative of those rare people who are good listeners, as you noted Patrick was, and who keep their minds and hearts open through their lives.
Oh my goodness, this was beautiful to read. Thank you for sharing, I learned a lot (and felt a lot). 💜💙💜💙