The first time I heard the name Jackie Shane was in October 2019. I was at a community event at The 519 Community Centre in Toronto and Shane was introduced as a soulful R&B singer who was popular in the 1960s. Her picture was projected on a screen; she was wearing a pant suit, her hair was styled in a pompadour, and she looked confidently cool behind the microphone.
I could hardly believe the story I was hearing. A Black trans woman artist who wore her queerness on her sleeve had a dedicated fanbase and regularly sold out shows at Toronto’s hottest music venues. That seems inconceivable for today, never mind 60 years ago.
When I got home, I started Googling. Turns out, not many others had heard of Jackie Shane either, at least not until recently. After her heyday in the 1960s, Shane stepped out of the public eye and it wasn’t until about 2010 when people started asking who she was again. Here, I present her story from a collection of resources gathered online.
She was a soulful singer and a mesmerizing performer who connected with her audience so profoundly that they came back to listen to her again and again. A Black trans woman, Jackie Shane dominated the Toronto music scene in the 1960s, helped to define the “Toronto sound,” and was a precursor to queer glam era of rock and roll.
Born in Nashville in 1940, Shane knew from an early age that she was a trans girl, though that terminology would not exist for another 60 years. Her mother and grandparents were supportive of her queerness and encouraged her to be herself, embrace her identity, and stand strong in the face of opposition.
Shane was drawn to music at an early age, singing in church choirs and school glee clubs. At age 13, she formed her first band with two neighbourhood boys, playing the drums while singing. She quickly began touring around the Southern US and eventually joined a traveling carnival troupe that eventually brought her to Canada.
During the summer of 1959, Shane was performing in Montreal when she stumbled upon Frank Motley and The Motley Crew. That began a decade-long collaboration that would rocket Shane to the top of the music world in Toronto, Boston, and Detroit. With Motley, Shane toured each of those cities to perform, interspersing her travels with visits to her mother who lived in Los Angeles. She also recorded a number of singles, the most famous of which was Any Other Way.
Tell her that I’m happy, Tell her that I’m gay
Tell her I wouldn’t have it, Any other way
Jackie Shane, Any Other Way
Originally written by William Bell, Shane’s cover of Any Other Way gave it new meaning when she sang the line “Tell her that I’m gay” with layers of innuendo in her sultry voice. The song topped out at #2 in Toronto’s CHUM charts and was also a regional hit in Baltimore, St. Louis, and Washington. Fan admiration for the song led to the live recording of her shows at The Sapphire Tavern in Toronto in 1965.
Shane was a performer like no other. Her singing was seductive and sensual, conveying raw emotion in a profound and yet reserved way. She dressed extravagantly in sequined outfits and brightly coloured pant suits, with immaculate makeup and stylish hair. She was confident, opinionated, authentic, and brash.
I don’t bow down. I do not get down on my knees. The lowest I go is the top of my head. This is Jackie!
Jackie Shane
Shane was in her late teens and twenties when she was actively touring and performing. For a young, Black, trans woman, she was unbelievably sure of herself and her politics, and she never hesitated to share her thoughts with others. During her shows, she often segued into sermon-like monologues where she extolled the audience to live their lives truthfully and to love and respect others. She revealed herself during those monologues with an authenticity that enraptured her fans.
Because injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
Jackie Shane
In 1971, Shane stepped away from the music industry, telling no one that she was retiring or what she planned to do next. To the music world, she disappeared completely. For the next 40 years, there would be rumors of her fate, but her whereabouts would remain elusive until she reemerged in the late 2010s.
In 2010, Elaine Banks of the CBC produced a radio documentary of Shane, interviewing her old bandmates and industry professionals who had worked with her. In 2013, Carl Wilson of Hazlitt wrote a piece on Shane’s identity as a trans woman and the history of drag and cross-dressing in the Black South community in the US. In 2014, artists Sonya Reynolds and Lauren Hortie produced a puppet animation short video called Whatever Happened to Jackie Shane? But it wasn’t until 2015 that Douglas Mcgowan of Numero Group tracked Shane down in Nashville, where she had settled after the death of her mother in 1996.
After working with Shane over a three-year period, Numero Group released a compilation of her records with extensive liner notes that detailed the ups and downs of her life. For the first time, she publicly acknowledged her identity as a trans woman and explained why she left the music industry so abruptly.
Shane had always cut her own path, never bowing to the pressures and dictates of society or of the industry. Some say that Shane kickstarted the queer culture in Toronto, unabashedly demonstrating what it meant to be Black, queer, and trans. Some say she influenced and inspired the sound of queer artists in Toronto who came after her. What is for certain is that she is adored by her fans and continues to be a queer icon of Toronto to this day.
Having learned of Jackie Shane’s story, the one overarching emotion I sense is loneliness. That may be me projecting, imbuing my own experiences and reactions onto her story. Yet, the struggles she went through to escape the South, fight off unwanted advances, defy societal norms, and live her authentic self—this feels lonely to me.
Did she have allies? Did she have anyone standing up for her without asking for a quid pro quo? Did she ever have a safe place she could retreat to? None of the anecdotes I found suggest there was. It was her against the world. Like it is for so many queer people of colour.
It’s exhausting—any QPOC will tell you—constantly defending ourselves against racism and against homophobia and transphobia. Add to that the scrutiny of stage lights and an industry where image is all-too-important. It’s no wonder she disappeared when she did. Who could stand up under the weight of it all forever?
After she resurfaced in the 2010s, there was talk about her returning to Toronto for a comeback show. She never got to do it. I would have loved to see a Jackie Shane show, to experience her in all her onstage glory. But it’s okay that she didn’t. She’d been there and done that—who are we to ask her to do it again?
