I’ve had punk on my mind this pride month. The connection the two scenes have with each other is inevitable and stronger than metal, especially here in Iowa City. After talking to Early Girl and getting their perspective on Iowa City, I wanted to connect with veteran pop-punk riot grrrl band Lipstick Homicide.
Lipstick Homicide is celebrating their 20th anniversary this year. Made up of Kane Edwards (they/he), Rachel Feldmann (she/her) and Luke Ferguson (he/him), they’ve been a staple in the punk scene in Iowa City and even opened for Green Day. After a couple year hiatus, they released their EP The Stone of Opportunity in April.
“We all grew up in the Coralville/North Liberty area and met in high school,” Feldmann shared. “We started jamming and writing songs. We thought of our band name around then. We kind of wanted it to sound riot grrrl, Bikini Kill-like; a feminine word and a scary word together.”
Edwards’ parents turned their basement into a rehearsal space, stocked with guitars, amps, a drum kit and even a PA system. His mom would pick them up at West High in Iowa City and let them rock into the evening.
“We all respect each other’s values and opinions, we never hold back our true thoughts and feelings,” Feldmann said. “I think we have a very healthy communication style with each other and that fits in musically as well, which for me makes a very comfortable and safe space to express myself.”
The musicians been involved in the queer scene as long as they’ve been in the punk scene. Both communities have given them the time and energy to develop their identities individually and collectively.
“I think what punk means to me is expressing yourself and living your life in a way that’s true and authentic,” Feldmann said. “And accepting myself as queer goes hand-in-hand with that.”
It helped Ferguson break away from a lifestyle he wasn’t very proud to be in.
“The punk scene is just so accepting. Even though I was raised as the Antichrist of punk-rock, in many ways,” said Ferguson. “I was raised to kind of be a bigot. So I feel like to be able to break out of that and not only share parts of myself but [also have them] celebrated … you don’t really realize that you’re not in a safe place or a safe community until you find a safe place or a safe community.”
Small town culture is prominent throughout the state: traditional values with less leniency for different perspectives and identities.
“[A few years ago] I put on my pretty outfit for the Renaissance Festival [in Amana], and me and my partner [were] getting yelled the F slur at us,” Edwards added. “Just some guy driving by in a pickup truck, you know.”
Iowa City isn’t like that, though.
“I think a lot of people have a lot of preconceived ideas of what Iowa is like, and it’s really Republican and it has been for the last decade,” Feldmann said. I nodded along, as I’m from Colorado and those notions lived in my head long before moving here. “So it’s cool to show people that it’s not all like that. There are cities in Iowa that are open-minded and accepting, and they have supportive music scenes.”
People have known Lipstick Homicide as pillars in the IC punk community. I asked if they ever had a plan or a goal to follow as an outwardly queer band.
“I think we just enjoy playing and [being] together and having fun,” noted Edwards. “But it seems to naturally just happen. We connect with other members of the community, and it just feels kind of magical without even trying to have a goal in mind.”
“To represent Iowa City’s punk scene being a safe place for gay and trans people is an important message we want to get across,” Feldmann added. “I don’t really care about how many views we get or how many listeners [we have] on Spotify. It really is about connecting with other people.”
So how has it been to be a successful local band? Lipstick Homicide started seeing the effects they have on people a few years into their career.
“Young people, like 16 or 17, have messaged us on Instagram, talking about a song we wrote when we were their age,” Feldmann added. “They’re like, ‘That song helped me accept myself,’ and that’s just amazing to me.”
Those worldly connections have mutual impacts.
“It’s easy to not see it sometimes and feel down about myself,” Feldmann said. “Like, ‘I’m not writing enough songs, I’m not getting attention for my new songs,’ but then I remember that kid that messaged us, and that’s crazy because that’s what music does for me too. Music is my therapy. Music is my life.”
Edwards, Feldmann and Ferguson exist quietly outside of the band, working at the vegan café Trumpet Blossom or playing with other projects. They’ve helped to maintain the punk and queer scenes in Iowa City, a triumph that will live on for years to come.
Their EP The Stone of Opportunity is out everywhere.
