Voce

From a transman’s lips to HaShem’s ear

Nick Walker, lead vocalist, lyricist, and guitarist for the band Dropjoy, with his dog

I’m on stage in a white, billowy, pillowy, flowery shirt. This shirt looks really good when I wear the crushed velvet purple jacket over it. Without that jacket, I am standing here with these giant 20-pound (10 pounds each) tits and a Telecaster guitar around my waist. I am singing my heart out, playing my heart out, and it is amazing. Yet I feel so uncomfortable.

I walked in here as a man, confident and cocksure, put my things on stage, did my sound check, and loaded my own amp. It’s hot in this club; the moment I take that crushed purple velvet jacket off I am revealed, and none of the revelations are to my glory. These giant sacks of fat that sit in front of me are weighing me down, revealing a side of me that isn’t me. It’s like living inside a bubble, or inside skin that doesn’t fit. I used to say people were irritated with me ’cuz they could see my balls ’cuz they’re on my chest.

But as I begin to solo, all of my confidence and prowess come through. Someone is going to say of me, “It’s Titty Hendrix,” and I will hate them for it. I walked in as a man, but I was perceived as a woman because of the mere temperature change in the room, only then to switch back to the man who plays guitar, who howls in rage and grief at Hashem, and, even in that manhood, there is a woman.

What matters is that I am singing and expressing myself, not what I look like. Music is for ears, right? Not tits or dicks or any and everything in between. I have memories of playing, albeit loudly, in a local watering hole (where all the best gigs begin) and having a grown white man step up to me, lower himself onto one, and then both, knees, and lick the high E string of my guitar while it was on my waist. I have vivid memories of soloing, eyes shut, literally in another world, and when I came to, my bassist was tonguing my boot. I loved that as a person, when I was playing my instrument, gender didn’t matter. I also loved the feeling of his long, pink tongue darting around on the cuticle and nails of my toes through the rich black leather of my motorcycle boots.

I remember playing the LGBTIA+ festival in San Diego Park, soloing around the crowd wirelessly, with a fresh bald head. I remember hearing my own voice stretched out across a huge manmade lake in Coronado, California for arguably over a thousand lesbians. We were announced, then not given enough time to sound check, so I did what I always do. I let my voice do the talking as my guitar pickup wasn’t cooperating with me or the sound person. It was then that I heard my voice stretch out over the water and I believed that as far as my voice traveled, I could be heard. As if my voice could reach around the globe.

I have the most incredible memory of chanting what is now a tattoo on my chest in Latin that says: One Light, One Lamp, One Journey, Many Paths, and the distinct pleasure of having a crowd yell it back at me. The crowd at the CD release party at O’Connells in San Diego was so loud, damn near shouting over me. The bar was not far from the waterway there. As I belted out the eight words, without music behind me, my hands raised above my head clapping profusely as loudly as possible, the crowd sang every single one of the eight words back to the three of us up there on the stage. In unison, mostly on key with me, repeatedly, until I damn near grew hoarse. That night I will never forget. I soaked all of that joy, communion, celebration, triumph and tragedy (Andrew, my brother and founding drummer, was gone by then) into my soul.

If music is HaShem’s heartbeat, then the voice must be the breath that HaShem uses. It is the significance of what is being said—which is exactly why words matter. The message my lips deliver matters; as I look back fondly on all those moments on stage, the paralyzing fear that ebbs and flows within me prior to the show falls away.

I meditate every time before I take the stage. Meditation grounds me, and also allows me to reach out to every spirit that has passed before me. I know I can call out to any spirit that has passed and they will come to me; all I need to do is ask. I have called or summoned forth some of the most influential women musical artists who have passed away to come and join me on stage and speak through me. When I do my sound check, I channel Nina Simone every time, and sing “I Shall Be Released.” To say this is cathartic is an understatement. It quells the stage fright.

The richness of my voice is such that the roughness of the man is there, yet I seek the angry, gentle side of the woman. The combination is incredible. Call it what you want, it’s mine to share, from a rich wealth of voices from all people.

My voice now is not far from where it started, and yet it is lower, rich with wisdom and more resonant than it was. With the addition of bi-weekly vitamin T (testosterone) the “reeds” or vocal chords are much thicker than they were before. I have always had a deep masculine voice (or so I was told, whatever that means) but now it feels guttural, raw, unprovoked. I am simply amazed that my voice has stood the test of time, and the ravages it has had upon me. I hardly recognize myself some days. I can best summarize it this way: The first time I performed at a little coffee shop, I said, “My name is Nicki Walker, and you can listen, or you don’t have to.” If I was singing from the head and heart before, well, now, I sing from balls to bones.

I’ve grown from that shy performer to ending up in a power trio with a powerhouse for a voice. My voice is demanding and vulnerable and melancholy all at the same time. Mostly it is just sad. That is the undercurrent of me. I am always at the threshold of crying. When I was a child, I stifled my tears, but as I’ve come into my manhood, I simply choose not to. It is an active and empowering choice.

I weep for world’s lost, the people I cherish who have died, the childhood I have provided for my kid despite growing up without a modicum of knowledge of what a healthy relationship looks like. I weep empathetically. I no longer stop myself when the tears flow. I don’t even care where I am.

It took me a long time to get to this place of acceptance with my tears. I have cried throughout my entire existence. I used to attempt to banish it, as it displayed weakness. But crying has always been uncontrollable for me. No matter what emotion I am displaying, the tears flow. Once ridiculed for it, now I lean completely into it.

I have cried on the subway, at concerts, in the streets, and while talking to people. I’ve cried everywhere, and will continue to. It is freeing and oh so necessary. I have cried onstage, which is oh so special to me. Stage is where I am the realest. All the curtains and masks fall and I am revealed in my glorious nakedness. I am absolutely vulnerable. I was once told I don’t have a singing voice. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Music is home for me and my voice is a welcomed channel. All of us, to me, have a channel (otherwise what the hell are Facebook and YouTube selling us?). Music is my path to my ancestors, a vessel that I wield, that centers me, grounds me. Singing attenuates me. It is my compass and only star that shines even on the darkest of nights. Like a pinprick in black velvet. This light is what separates us all from the dark.

Someone once said to me that I am like a magician because I can take an inanimate object and make it make music. That mere sentence stopped me in my tracks. I had never thought of it like that. That too is a gift. So every day, whether it’s my song or someone else’s, I’ll sing. Not because I need to scream at HaShem ( Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur notwithstanding), but simply because I can, and it fucking feels good. That is reason enough.

Voce.

Nick Walker is a 55-year-old proud Brooklyn-born Panamanian-American transman. He is the lead vocalist, lyricist and guitarist for the band Dropjoy, whose albums include Situational Ethics and Dirty Virgin. Nick began his transition at age 48, and converted to Judaism in 2019 after a long and storied disagreement with Catholicism. While Nick is working on more music, he is also taking his skills as a singer songwriter to the written page as he writes his memoirs and a graphic novel. In a pinch he can carry a loaded diaper but not preferably. Nick can be reached at nswalker369@gmail.com