SERPENTWITHFEET
The singer turns up the volume about Black gay love on his new album Deacon
So, your partner appears in the music video for Same Size Shoe,” I nonchalantly state – before serpentwithfeet corrects me: “Well, that’s actually not my boyfriend.” After removing my foot from my mouth, I apologise for not getting my facts straight. “No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine… I guess we [my co-star and I] did our jobs,” he smiles. The convincing performance brings to life the song that best captures the spirit and fluttering heartbeat of serpentwithfeet’s gorgeous second album, Deacon, out now, an unabashed celebration of Black gay love. After striking fertile ground with his 2018 debut, soil – avant-garde RnB wreathed around tracks about heartbreak and loss – the LA-based singer, aka Josiah Wise, lays down fresh roots for his softer, quieter follow-up, which finds him in a happier place, trilling about friendship, romance and the joys of sex. The man is even inspired by birdsong and, at one point during our video call, he recreates the chirruping of his feathered friends (not going to lie, it felt rather lovely to be serenaded). Shrugging off his initial concerns about coming across as “corny” with his latest record, serpentwithfeet, 32, opens up about owning his sexuality, properly writing about sex for the first time, and continuing the work of the Black gay men who blazed trails before him.
How would you describe your new album,
Deacon? Is there a story you’re trying to tell?
I don’t think I’m trying to tell any story. It’s more so, like, a study of energy, a study of what I call “deacon energy” – it’s really calm, it’s really restrained, it’s sweet and it’s breezy. The album title, of course, conjures religious imagery. Was that done purposely?
I’m always interested in reconceptualising things. I grew up in church, but I don’t go to church any more. I don’t identify with any religion, but a lot of that language still suits me, has utility for me. I like the idea of the deacon, the person that really makes the church run. They’re the person that takes on everyone else; if someone is missing or hasn’t shown up for church for six months because of an illness, the deacon is going to reach out; if a kid is doing horribly in school with his grades, the deacon is going to be the person to help tutor or be supportive. The ones I’ve known at least, they have a certain calmness… I was interested in that energy and that coolness, that willingness to be the rock. I’ve just noticed that you have the word “Deacon” tattooed on your neck. When did you get that?
A few years ago. It actually came before I had the album idea… I’ve gotten a lot of tattoos, maybe 12 or 14. What growth would you say there has been
between this album and your debut, soil?
I’m spending more time listening. This is going to sound crazy… I’ll be in the house, like, right now, hearing the birds chirping and it just makes me giggle. The birds, really, they’re talking, and I find that so hilarious. I don’t know what they’re saying – actually, I kind of do know what they’re saying.
What are they saying?
The birds are gossiping and they’re telling all the neighbours’ business… I tried to mimic the bird sounds on songs like Dawn and Same Size Shoe [he starts singing]. It’s kinda tucked in the mix, but if you listen closely on the choruses, I was trying to mimic that. I’ve been listening to Same Size Shoe a lot – like, a lot. What was running through your head when you wrote that?
I just wanted to write about the beauty of dating Black men. There’s one line where I say, “You can walk a mile in my shoes/That’s >
“I wanted to write about the beauty of dating Black men”
“I’m not going to see something I don’t like and not say something”
why I trust you/That’s why I love you” – let me forget my own words! [laughs]. I think there’s something beautiful there; when someone can actually identify with your joys and your excitement and your fear and your reservations, where you don’t have to over-explain the most intimate and dear parts of yourself. There’s a certain release and a certain trust that happens there, and I wanted to write about that wonderful trust that I’ve experienced in my life, that I’ve known other people [experience], friends, my Black gay friends who have Black gay partners. I wanted to celebrate it and I wanted to give myself permission to be silly.
I’m 32 and I’ve experienced a lot of love and I didn’t want that not to be documented, because I’ve done such a great job at articulating and documenting and recording my frustration with romance, or my frustration with men, or whatever. I didn’t want to go down in history as the sad-boy artist. I didn’t want to go down in history as this, sort of, dispirited, woebegone person. We all have days where we’re pissed and I think that we should all have the real estate or license to say, “I hate when this happens,” but I did that [already]. I said that for a few different projects, now it’s time to talk about the love I’ve experienced because I have. This isn’t – all the songs are fictitious, like, I wasn’t writing about any specific person, but I’ve had a lot of encounters and experiences that made it very easy to write.
There are a few tracks named after guys: Malik and Amir and then we also have Derrick’s Beard. So, they’re not based on real-life inspirations?
It’s all very general… I just want to make it clear — or make it clear to myself — that I have a wide imagination. I didn’t want it to be about one particular person, which is why I have different — I have Malik, Amir and Derrick’s Beard, three different guys, so you’re not going to know who the song, who the album is about. That’s for people to ponder on, that ain’t my business. We’ve all, many of us have had that feeling when you’re home and you’re like, I really want my boo to come over, but they got to be up for work in six hours – I’m going to text them anyway. That’s what Derrick’s Beard is… everyone’s felt that, you know, feeling; you want to be respectful because you know they have work, but you’re also like, well, I’m just gonna shoot my shot and maybe you’ll come over, maybe you won’t [laughs].
Same Size Shoe,
Going back to in the music video there is a tribute to the old TV series Why did you include those nods?
Noah’s Arc.
I’m a Cancerian, [born] 9 July, and often the Cancerian is thought to be the person that is interested in memory, in history, in documenting memory. I think part of my passion is, I enjoy thinking about what people before me have done, because it is abundantly clear to me that I didn’t get to be out and Black and gay and very vocal about my politics and very vocal about how I’m gonna take up space, how I don’t want to take up space. Whatever I may say in interviews, on Twitter or whatever – it’s very clear to me that I’m able to speak with authority because people before me have done the work.
It felt like the right thing to do, to honour Noah’s Arc; to honour Patrik-Ian Polk, who has done so much for the Black gay community; to honour Marlon Riggs, Joseph Beam, Essex Hemphill, a brilliant trio. They all did their own separate work, but just doing work for Black gay community. I wanted to honour them in a very intentional way. [Also] Jonte’, an incredible choreographer and dancer who was breaking boundaries for over 10 years. All people who influenced me and have given me courage; like Jonte’ is one of the first icons that I show in the music video and I remember discovering him when I was in college.
The album is a warm celebration of friendship and Black gay love, a narrative that has very much been missing from the mainstream. How important was it to you to get that out there?
I am just adding my two cents to the conversation… I don’t know who’s going to like it, I don’t know who’s going to be into it, I don’t know how people are going to respond. But I know that in the spiritual sense, I have to do my work, I have to do my bit. As long as I’m on this earth I have to do that and hopefully people receive it; if it’s just one 25-year-old gay person who’s like, all right, cool, I’m gonna wear that eyeliner today, or, I’m gonna go respond to that boy that asked me out on a date, but I was scared, I’m actually going to say yes. Those little moments can change a lot for a person. Me seeing Jonte’ when I was 18 changed the way I thought I could take up space, and Noah’s Arc, seeing the crew of gay friends and the way they talked through everything… I want to play my part, whatever that part may be.
You purposely chose not to include any songs about heartbreak, right?
I’ve already done heartbreak. I’ve done it really well [laughs]. So often we — and when I say we, I think about Black people — are told to smile anyway, to smile through it, to take this shit and deal with it. In 2020, I was – it was a fiery year, but I think people got a little bit more of the message than maybe they were before, because I wasn’t just going to sit and take shit. My own personal ethos, I’m, like, I’m not going to sit and see something I don’t like and not say something. So, I decided for Blisters and for soil, to just be like, I see some shit I don’t like and I’m about to say it.
All right, I’ve done that, that is not my life mission statement to complain. I needed to complain because I actually didn’t really know how to complain before that, to be honest; I just took shit and smiled, and it was awful. So, now I’m like, great, well, that’s off my chest, what’s a good party? [Laughs]. I’m glad people have received it, because I didn’t know people would be open to me being more joyous, because many people expect a certain thing from me now.
Is there a song that you’re particularly proud of?
I’m such a big fan of writers that sing about the magic of nature, you know, like Stevie Wonder did [starts singing] Come Back as a Flower from Secret Life of Plants. That song brings me to tears. I think about Jobim who did Passarim: “Little bird on a tree, you better fly.” Hyacinth feels like an achievement because I was able to write something that feels like magical realism about my favourite plant; writing about what would happen if that flower that sees me day and night, knows me better than anyone else because it sees me when I’m in tears, it sees me when I’m singing to myself, what would happen if this flower turned into a man?… I’ve never been able to write anything like that before.
Wood Boy
I think is, ahem, top of the chops. How challenging is it to write about sex?
A lot of artists do a great job at writing about sex. I have usually avoided it. I’ve
made allusions to it, like, in Cherubim on soil, I made subtle, sort of, nods, but you wouldn’t really know unless you sat with the lyric for a while. I’ve never really just done that, and also, I think, part of what I want to do in my work, especially now, is make sure I’m thinking of myself as a full human. Sometimes there’s a temptation to maybe not talk about the more intimate parts of gayness, because it seems like a faux pas, and I think sometimes people become really obsessed with what happens in the gay bedroom.
When I’m talking with my friends, we talk about a million things; literature, favourite foods, we share recipes, then we talk about, “Oh yeah, child, well, how you feel, how was last night with that boy you went home with? Was it OK?” I wanted that moment. It’s never salacious; I’m not asking my friends for explicit details, but you know, if me and a bunch of friends went out and then one of my friends bagged a boy, it’s like, “We went to the next party and you left with a boy, we gonna ask you! So, how was your night?”
It wasn’t super, like, overly sexual, it’s just the way I would talk with my close friends. I wanted it to feel natural. I didn’t want to avoid it – because that can be felt too, when you’re avoiding something that comes so naturally to you. I don’t want to be an artist that avoids stuff just because it’s uncomfortable, or because I haven’t done it. It’s time, it’s time to talk about the Wood Boy! [Laughs].
Can you put your finger on when exactly you owned your sexuality?
My mid-20s. There were years where everybody either knew I was gay, or it was, kind of, like people assumed it, but I never talked about who I was dating or if I liked a boy. We could be out in public, there could be ten beautiful men that walk past, I wouldn’t say a thing, I wouldn’t blink an eye, I would act like they don’t exist. I did that for years, that was a performance that I mastered… So, years later, when I told my friends, “I’m dating this guy,” they were like, “What, you’re telling us?!” They were so surprised I was talking about it.
Even though they knew I was gay – I wasn’t in the closet, I wasn’t dating women – I just didn’t – it was a question mark, there was an ellipsis by my name, where you didn’t really know. I kept that part of me under wraps. By my mid-20s, I was ready; all right, I’m dating these guys, I’m gonna get numbers, I’m gonna give my number out, and I was just very loud about it. It just took some time to – I don’t know what the turning point was, I was just ready to not be a hermit.
What was your coming out like? Or is that something you’ve spoken to death about?
It was very underwhelming. Nobody was shocked. My friends will tell you, “We already knew, we were waiting for you.” My friend let me have it when I finally came out, because there were so many instances where she tried to come out for me, or be like, “Yeah, because we know you like that guy,” and I was like, “No, no, no.” I laughed a lot that first couple of years, because people were just like, “D’uh!”
Last question: what is your next tattoo going to be?
I’ve been thinking a lot about pomegranates and figs. I really enjoy thinking about fruit with lots of seeds, and fecund fruits. There’s something really poetic and powerful about that.
Does that mean we can expect a song on the next album to be titled
Pomegranate? Definitely, maybe a pomegranate song [laughs].