Hello there, lovers of queer history! Do you remember a moment when you listened to new music that changed your life forever? I certainly do. I was twelve, tired of the golden oldies my parents played on car trips and not feeling the current music scene. So, I asked my dad, as he drove us home, who some of his favorite artists were.
“Hendrix,” he replied. “Chuck Berry, but you knew that. Cream.” As we slowed down on our offramp, he turned the steering wheel and looked at me at the stop sign. “Janis. You’ve gotta listen to Janis Joplin.”
I don’t remember how I found her work that night, but I do remember that when I listened to “Cry Baby”, her shrieking start pierced my chest, and I instantly became a lifelong fan.
But — perhaps shamefully — it wasn’t until recently that I learned this titan of rock and roll was bi.
Born on January 19, 1943, to middle-class parents in Port Arthur, Texas — a town deeply embedded in the oil industry — Janis was the first of three children and originally excelled at school. However, in her teenage years, Joplin's choices to break free from the crowd by being outspoken and wearing clothes that were not in vogue at the time (men’s shirts and short skirts instead of the A-line skirts of the '50s) made her subject to ridicule and name-calling by other students. She found solace in a group of male friends who also appreciated more eccentric tastes, such as the works of the Beat poets and blues musicians like Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith.
Joplin found a love for singing with a style that stood out from other singers of the time and quickly gained notice for her raspy, full-tilt performances at local folksings (casual, democratic musical gatherings). After a few short attempts to break away by attending (and dropping out of) various colleges, secretarial school, and stints in Los Angeles and the Bay Area, Joplin returned home to Port Arthur. For a time, she tried the strait-laced life. However, the strong memories of severe teasing, the dead-end offers of town life, and her desire to continue singing led her once again to hit the road. (Side note for fellow artists: Even Janis had trouble “making it”.)
In 1966, a friend familiar with her work encouraged Joplin to return to San Francisco and audition for an emerging hippie band called Big Brother and the Holding Company. She did — and knocked their socks off. As the band’s profile increased, so did Joplin’s influence on the group, culminating in an iconic performance at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967 that convinced Clive Davis (#Bi2) to sign the band to his Columbia label. That album, Cheap Thrills (1968), was a massive hit and includes many songs for which we know Joplin best, including “Ball and Chain”, her cover of “Summertime”, and “Piece of My Heart”.
However, Joplin was chafing at continuing to work with the members of Big Brother. Jealousy tore through the band as both her unforgettable voice and visceral performances often got far more attention than their musicianship, causing discord. Joplin also felt like there was more she could do without the limitations of the band. So in 1968, she made the painful choice to leave Big Brother and break out as a solo artist.
This proved to be a fantastic move. Though her first solo album didn’t receive the same level of praise or numbers as her work with Big Brother, her fame carried her through performances and led to her being one of the standout acts at the original Woodstock Festival in 1969. She also began work on her second album with the Full Tilt Boogie Band, Pearl (a nickname for her), which included some of her own music.
Regarding her bisexuality, Joplin had a string of fascinating lovers throughout the years. One of the most famous was singer/songwriter Kris Kristofferson, whom she immortalized with her cover of his song, “Me and Bobby McGee”. She was also involved with Country Joe McDonald (who wrote the song “Janis” about her) and was engaged to novelist Seth Morgan. She was also involved with a woman named Jae Whitaker as well as a Haight-Ashbury clothing store owner Peggy Caserta, who later wrote memoirs about their relationship.
While Joplin was a phenomenal performer, her life was turbulent. From her teenage years, she struggled with substance abuse to varying degrees. Unfortunately, this led to a premature death in 1970 due to an accidental heroin overdose. She was just 27 at the time. Pearl (1971) and “Bobby McGee” were both released posthumously to widespread acclaim and popularity.
Joplin’s death reverberated throughout her generation, making her one of the four major musical influences (alongside Hendrix, Brian Jones, and Jim Morrison) whose untimely deaths closed out the Sixties and initiated the gallows-humor membership of The 27 Club. However, her legacy persisted long after the 1970s began. Her daring to break away from conventional good-girl lead singer performances paved the way for other bold songstresses to explore space, style, and sound on stage. Her life was the source of the thinly veiled 1979 biopic The Rose, starring Bette Midler. Modern artists as diverse as Stevie Nicks, Joss Stone, Florence and the Machine, and Pink all cite her work as a source of inspiration.
While Joplin’s life is the definition of a bi disaster, her music and breakthrough performances have etched a spot in the blues and rock and roll halls of fame that will forever be remembered. And she was bi.
Such a consequential life is difficult — nay, almost impossible — to sum up in such a short article. If you’re curious to learn more about this pioneering musician (like the fact that she knocked out Jim Morrison with a bottle of Southern Comfort — and for good reason), you can find more information from reputable sources online as well as numerous biographies at your local library. And when you do, make sure to put on one of her albums. You won’t regret it.