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Many of the students who sing Shirley's songs may not realize a
blackface performer recorded them. A lot of Knipp's casual fans
outside gay culture mistakenly assume that Shirley Q. Liquor really
is a black woman eagerly offering her "ignunt-ass" opinions. What
that says about modern-day racism in the South, Knipp would rather
not care to speculate. While Shirley is coarse and boisterous,
Knipp when he's playing himself is delicately mannered and
reluctant to reflect upon the implications of Shirley's rising
popularity or the corresponding uproar.
"Gosh, you know, if I have to explain to people what my show is about at its deepest levels, it kind of takes the fun out of it," he says. "I do see that Shirley Q. Liquor unleashes a lot of important emotions and issues around race, but I'll be damned if I can get a grasp on it. I wish God would clue me in on where I am supposed to go with her."
Knipp routinely sells out small venues in the South, and Shirley Q. is a huge draw at Southern Decadence, the annual "Gay Mardi Gras" bacchanalia in New Orleans. "My core audience is gay men, their moms and rednecks," he says.
He is paid between $4,000 and $7,000 per gig, depending on how far he must travel from Lexington, Kentucky, where he moved after Hurricane Katrina destroyed his beachfront apartment in Mississippi. Knipp's cat Rebel miraculously survived.
Despite his appearance fees and Shirley Q. merchandise sales, Knipp claims his annual take is "about on par" with the money he made as a traveling registered nurse, around $70,000 to $90,000 a year.
At some of Knipp's shows, he provides his own warm-up act by portraying Betty Butterfield, a pill-addled Southern white lady who discusses her never-ending quest to find the religion that's just right for her, and the travails of life with her abusive, double-amputee, Vietnam-vet husband, Jerry. However, Betty doesn't have the same crossover appeal, and Knipp owes his success, and the corresponding firestorm, to Miss Liquor.
Raised a Presbyterian, Knipp is now an ordained Quaker deacon. Critics who assume he's a hateful racist might be surprised to learn that Knipp is one of only a handful of chaplains in the South willing to preside over same-sex marriages. "Most of my clients are black lesbians in the Mississippi Delta who can't find a church to give them an official ceremony, so we go to a beach or park, and I'm happy to do it for them."
If there's a contradiction in marrying black lesbians by day, then performing racial comedy in blackface by night, Knipp's blind to it. In fact, he feels that on both accounts he's doing God's work.
"There are so many pent-up things that black people want to say to white people and vice versa, but we're all scared to death of offending each other," he says. "I think God's plan for me is to get right in the middle of all the tension and just make them laugh and say, 'Oh, my God, I've thought that, but nobody's ever said it out loud.' There's gotta be some healing that comes from that. And I truly think that's why God put me here: to be a healer."
That," says lecia brooks, "is bullshit. You're going to heal racial wounds by ridiculing poor black women and calling it God's will? What arrogance!" Brooks, the education director of the Civil Rights Memorial Center in Montgomery, helped organize the protest against Knipp's Montgomery show.
"I was incensed to see all these white folks nonchalantly giggling at a white man in blackface drag," says Brooks, who is black and a lesbian. "It's amazing to me that even the rampant homophobia in the South doesn't put a dent in the sense of racial privilege presumed by the white gay men who patronize this clear example of racism and misogyny disguised as entertainment."
Like most of the protesters at Knipp's performances, Brooks admits she's never actually seen Knipp do his thing. But she's never been to a Klan cross-burning either, and she's still pretty sure she's not down with the Klan: "I don't need to see his show because I have lived it. I have witnessed every vile, demeaning, dehumanizing stereotype he draws upon to create his caricature. Blackface is not acceptable, period."
>>LISTEN: Check out a remix of RuPaul's "Supermodel" featuring Shirley Q. Liquor.
>> This is an excerpt from the new issue of Rolling Stone, on newsstands until June 1st.
"Gosh, you know, if I have to explain to people what my show is about at its deepest levels, it kind of takes the fun out of it," he says. "I do see that Shirley Q. Liquor unleashes a lot of important emotions and issues around race, but I'll be damned if I can get a grasp on it. I wish God would clue me in on where I am supposed to go with her."
Knipp routinely sells out small venues in the South, and Shirley Q. is a huge draw at Southern Decadence, the annual "Gay Mardi Gras" bacchanalia in New Orleans. "My core audience is gay men, their moms and rednecks," he says.
He is paid between $4,000 and $7,000 per gig, depending on how far he must travel from Lexington, Kentucky, where he moved after Hurricane Katrina destroyed his beachfront apartment in Mississippi. Knipp's cat Rebel miraculously survived.
Despite his appearance fees and Shirley Q. merchandise sales, Knipp claims his annual take is "about on par" with the money he made as a traveling registered nurse, around $70,000 to $90,000 a year.
At some of Knipp's shows, he provides his own warm-up act by portraying Betty Butterfield, a pill-addled Southern white lady who discusses her never-ending quest to find the religion that's just right for her, and the travails of life with her abusive, double-amputee, Vietnam-vet husband, Jerry. However, Betty doesn't have the same crossover appeal, and Knipp owes his success, and the corresponding firestorm, to Miss Liquor.
Raised a Presbyterian, Knipp is now an ordained Quaker deacon. Critics who assume he's a hateful racist might be surprised to learn that Knipp is one of only a handful of chaplains in the South willing to preside over same-sex marriages. "Most of my clients are black lesbians in the Mississippi Delta who can't find a church to give them an official ceremony, so we go to a beach or park, and I'm happy to do it for them."
If there's a contradiction in marrying black lesbians by day, then performing racial comedy in blackface by night, Knipp's blind to it. In fact, he feels that on both accounts he's doing God's work.
"There are so many pent-up things that black people want to say to white people and vice versa, but we're all scared to death of offending each other," he says. "I think God's plan for me is to get right in the middle of all the tension and just make them laugh and say, 'Oh, my God, I've thought that, but nobody's ever said it out loud.' There's gotta be some healing that comes from that. And I truly think that's why God put me here: to be a healer."
That," says lecia brooks, "is bullshit. You're going to heal racial wounds by ridiculing poor black women and calling it God's will? What arrogance!" Brooks, the education director of the Civil Rights Memorial Center in Montgomery, helped organize the protest against Knipp's Montgomery show.
"I was incensed to see all these white folks nonchalantly giggling at a white man in blackface drag," says Brooks, who is black and a lesbian. "It's amazing to me that even the rampant homophobia in the South doesn't put a dent in the sense of racial privilege presumed by the white gay men who patronize this clear example of racism and misogyny disguised as entertainment."
Like most of the protesters at Knipp's performances, Brooks admits she's never actually seen Knipp do his thing. But she's never been to a Klan cross-burning either, and she's still pretty sure she's not down with the Klan: "I don't need to see his show because I have lived it. I have witnessed every vile, demeaning, dehumanizing stereotype he draws upon to create his caricature. Blackface is not acceptable, period."
>>LISTEN: Check out a remix of RuPaul's "Supermodel" featuring Shirley Q. Liquor.
>> This is an excerpt from the new issue of Rolling Stone, on newsstands until June 1st.
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- Portions of Album Content Provided by All Music Guide © 2009 All Media Guide, LLC.
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