Cindy Lee and me
How an album by a gender-bending artist took the music world by storm
Last month, the gender-bending Canadian experimental rock artist Cindy Lee quietly released “Diamond Jubilee,” a dense double album that juxtaposes lush, cinematic instrumentals with lo-fi indie rock jams and haunted girl group torch ballads.
It’s a gorgeous and unpredictable project, but one that doesn’t seem designed for mass consumption. Clocking in at over two hours, the 32-song opus isn’t available on major streaming services. Instead, Cindy Lee released “Diamond Jubilee” exclusively on a clunky GeoCities website, where fans can choose a high-quality stream or download the album for $30.
Despite these barriers, buzz spread quickly among music lovers and critics, who began sharing a YouTube link that contained the full album as if it was a secret.
On April 12, the flood gates opened after Pitchfork awarded the album a 9.1, the highest rating the influential music publication has given any contemporary artist since Fiona Apple’s 2020 album “Fetch the Bolt Cutters” received a perfect 10.
The topic of Cindy Lee took social media by storm, with high-profile fans — from Cadence Weapon to Elijah Wood — posting effusively. On rateyourmusic.com, “Diamond Jubilee” quickly rose to highestrated album of the year, knocking off recently acclaimed releases from Vampire Weekend and Adrianne Lenker.
Tickets for Cindy Lee’s tour also exploded in popularity; new fans were expected to struggle to find a way into her sold-out Toronto date on May 17 at the Great Hall, although there was talk it might be moved to a bigger venue. A couple of weeks ago in Vancouver, I had to bribe the door person $10 above the ticket price to be let inside — and that was the night before the Pitchfork review was published.
So where did this surprise sensation begin?
The emergence of Cindy Lee
Cindy Lee is the alter ego of the Calgary-born, North Carolinabased singer-songwriter and drag performer Patrick Flegel, who first became known as the guitarist and lead singer of the cult Canadian rock band Women.
Women released a self-titled debut in 2008, followed by an acclaimed sophomore album in 2010, shortly before imploding in an infamous onstage fight on Halloween night in Victoria. Cindy Lee emerged in the wake of the breakup, as Flegel openly struggled with mental health issues, addiction and gender dysphoria. His earliest music under this name may have been noisy, even shrill, but it also rewarded fans with eerie, melodic diamonds in the rough, like “Holding the Devil’s Hand.” In 2020, Cindy Lee’s fifth album, “What Tonight to Eternity?” was longlisted for the Polaris Prize.
On “Diamond Jubilee” — Cindy Lee’s seventh album and their warmest, most accessible project to date — the pop hooks have shifted from the subtext to the text. Nearly every one of the album’s 32 songs includes a stunning, emotionally resonant guitar solo.
“Over time, I’ve just wanted more pleasant sounds. I’m not listening to this hell ride, anguish kind of music,” Flegel told Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie Zine in a 2020 interview.
The grassroots support for “Diamond Jubilee” has deeper implications beyond the music: the album’s method of release represents a bold act of protest against the big streaming services, at a moment when artists on Spotify with less than 1,000 streams per year have been demonetized. Cindy Lee proved it’s possible to develop a cult following organically, keep your music away from the bean counters and still receive widespread acclaim. But, for me, Cindy Lee represents something much more.
Acts of tenderness
I met Pat when we were both teenage punks in Calgary’s all-ages music scene. The first time I saw him onstage with his proto-Women band Veritas, he was dressed in brown grandpa pants with jet black hair teased like the Cure’s Robert Smith.
As I got to know Pat better, his ravenous music tastes inspired me to dig deeper.
When Pat became Cindy Lee, I experienced an epiphany. His powerfully vulnerable approach to artistic expression, and the way he was able to find glamour in life’s darkest corners, made me, like countless others, feel seen.
It’s taken me my whole life to open up about my queerness, but I can thank Pat for showing me the power of my fragile feminine side. Cindy Lee — and Pat, by extension — inspires me to be my whole self.
“Diamond Jubilee” features some of the most personal reckonings Pat has ever put to tape. On “Demon Bitch,” he admits, “I’ve been searching, searching / I was a foolish clown / Anywhere but here / I put my burden down.”
Anyone like me, who has questioned their identity while causing pain to themselves or others, can see themselves reflected in such lyrics. Cindy Lee’s songs are an honest expression from a work in progress, just like we all are.
Cindy Lee has the power to inspire, enrich and empower. To me, she is nothing less than a living piece of art.