I am coming out again, this time as a lover of stomp and clap music. This will probably get me in trouble with my mother in a way that coming out as bisexual never did, because she believed that you should always be your authentic self, so long as you have good taste. Stomp clap music has often been the subject of much derision and a bit of a punchline. But despite the ridicule, I’m willing to defend my taste.
The genre, sometimes referred to as stomp and holler or indie folk, peaked in the 2000s, with bands such as the Lumineers, Of Monsters and Men and, of course, Mumford & Sons – think a lot of guitars, banjos, the odd fiddle, literal stomping and clapping, with the occasional rousing “hey!” in the background. It was largely associated with hipsters – the twirly moustached, braces and Henley-shirt-wearing kind – and with band members who all look like Sunday school preachers and youth pastors. I can’t stand the aesthetic, but the music is undeniable.
So how did a black queer woman – raised on jazz and soul – end up loving these bands? Mostly through a lot of late nights on Tumblr – the mainstay of any teenager figuring themselves out in the 2010s. I was obsessed with the Norwegian teen drama Skam and all its various iterations and adaptations. It’s an obsession that led me to Tumblr, where there were tonnes of fan edits (short video tributes to the show’s couples and characters), all set to an endless stream of stomp and clap such as the Lumineers’ Ophelia or King and Lionheart by Of Monsters And Men.
Though my music taste wasn’t limited, it definitely wasn’t cool (whatever that means). As my love for the genre grew, my friends, a small group of queer kids at a Catholic school, were very much live and let live with my choices – we were already on the outskirts anyway. It was never exactly something to bust out at a group sesh, though. I think the closest I could get was Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan, which we could all agree was good “straight white” music.
Now 23, I am (nearly) past that phase, but at the time the music was always a comfort to me, as I wrestled with coming out.
Against the joyful twang of the banjo, the music was melancholy, but never devastating – a contrast to the turmoil I felt inside. There was longing and regret and unrequited love, but also hope after heartbreak. Songs such as Cleopatra by the Lumineers spoke to the lifelong regret of not telling someone you love them out of fear. Others, such as The Night We Met by Lord Huron, portrayed the first intense heartache you feel after drifting out of a relationship, something that spoke to me as I drifted home, aged 16, after kissing a girl for the first time – not able yet to talk about it, music was my solace.
My love for these bands (with the exception of Mumford & Sons, you know what you did) was as much about the self-discovery as it was the music. Growing up, I loved emo indie bands because my friends put me on to them, while jazz and soul were a part of my upbringing. My violin lessons are why you will find Beethoven next to Cowboy Carter on my playlists. But indie folk was all mine, music discovered in an online community almost as an antidote to the catholic guilt and self-loathing I was battling through. So for me stomp and clap was the soundtrack of my coming out and I’m willing to make the case for its inclusion on all Pride playlists this year. (Hear me out: fiddles at Pride!)