Love Was Nothing Like a Song by Heart. Until It Was.
Passion can ignite when you least expect it
Heart blew my mind.
The Seattle rock band fronted by sisters Ann and Nancy Wilson had huge US hits in the 70s with Magic Man and Barracuda. Their string of hit albums included Dreamboat Annie and the folksy Dog and Butterfly.
But they were introduced to me, and the rest of the UK, as a hair metal band in 1987.
By that point Heart had been backcombed and restyled for MTV, and boy had it paid off. Their self-titled 1985 album raced across the States with hit after hit, including These Dreams, Never and What About Love?
Two years later it was our turn, and Alone was released as a single in the UK.
I had never heard anything like it. After a delicate piano intro, Alone explodes into a gloriously overblown power ballad. Ann’s banshee vocals soar above a cloud of dry ice and hairspray, cut through by Nancy’s red-hot guitar.
Three-and-a-half minutes of pure emotion and mid-80s fireworks. It was the most passionate thing I had ever experienced.
I devoured their albums Bad Animals and Heart as soon as they landed in the Swindon branch of Our Price. These songs somehow made me feel fully alive. On the edge of 16, I was determined to feel like this forever.
Reality bites
Things didn’t quite turn out that way.
As a teenager I was lucky enough to have a few girlfriends, and they were all fantastic people.
But when we kissed, it just felt like two people pressing their lips together, trying to figure out what to do with their tongues.
Where was the passion? Where were the fireworks?
When we moved to next base, my girlfriends were without doubt the least sexually satisfied women on the planet.
Love was nothing like a Heart song.
Damp squib
For a while I wrote myself off as a cold fish.
While friends were chasing relationships, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Maybe I’m just a bit remote and passionless, I shrugged. For me, romance was a damp squib.
But this was contradicted by the passion I felt for music and clubbing.
Fuelled by cheap student pints, nights out clubbing with friends were the best times ever. They made me feel fully alive again.
By now Heart were no longer my favourites — instead my CD shelf was filling up with Madonna, Pet Shop Boys and Erasure.
You can see where this is going.
Finally it has happened to me
Exactly 30 years ago, I was in that beautiful six-week limbo between finishing my exams and getting our results.
The sun was out in Norwich, so we maxed out our student loans and partied more than ever. It was a riot.
At the time, James was one of the few gay men I knew. He was out, handsome and hilarious.
After one particularly big night, James crashed at ours. In my room.
I drunkenly plucked up the courage to ask if I could kiss him. He said OK.
Fireworks.
Everything Heart had told me was true. And then some.
The rest of the night was even better than a glorious technicolour power ballad.
And fun — why did no-one ever tell me sex could be fun? I knew James and I would never be more than friends, but when it came to sex I could finally see what all the fuss was about.
I was also relieved to realise: I had as much passion as anyone. It was simply that men sparked my passion rather than women.
Morning after
I’d love to tell you that I came out the next day and let my revelation guide me into a brighter future.
Sadly things didn’t quite turn out that way.
After finally recognising that I was gay, I wasted the best part of a year feeling deeply ashamed of who I was.
Too many queer people still experience shame on a daily basis, and too many institutions and public figures are happy to reinforce our shame for their own benefit. Matthew Todd’s brilliant book Straight Jacket examines the significant impact this can have.
I could breezily talk about how I went back into the closet for a year, but that would make it sound much easier than it was. I tried to dismiss my feelings, to suppress or explain them away. As anyone who’s attempted this will agree, it was miserable and exhausting.
Pride
But with love and support from my incredible friends, I eventually came out as gay.
Two of these incredible friends then took me to Pride in London, which introduced me to the wider queer community.
Together we marched right through the centre of London before loudly cheering for Erasure, Boy George and Jimmy Somerville at Victoria Park. I felt welcomed, I felt accepted, and I finally felt at home.
And yes, there were fireworks.
- Switchboard offers free and confidential support and information for the whole LGBTQIA+ community in the UK
