Gilt and the Power of Queer Punk

This was not just another punk show starring a bunch of cis white dudes whaling about getting dumped or railing against the man; the themes were nuanced, and the identities abounded.

by Samantha Ligeti

May 11th, 2022

Some musicians are infamously bad at interviews (like that rockabilly band from Orange County that shall not be named).

This is not the case for Gilt’s singer/guitarist Tyler Fieldhouse, who was just as compelling talking to me during sound check as they were bending over backwards to perform a gravity-defying guitar solo.

Tyler’s graceful articulation of Gilt’s sound and ethos made the interview as breezy as the outdoor Miami venue mercifully equipped with fans poised at every angle, including right on top of the performers.

“I feel like Beyonce,” joked singer Ash Stixx on stage later from behind her thick, black eye-makeup as the fans whipped her pigtails out behind her.

Tyler and I sat down on some mismatched chairs on the venue’s patio framed by a wireframe flamingo wrapped around a potted plant and waxed tables painted into bananas and mangos.

Sam and Tyler hardstyling!

Gilt was set to open for the band Mannequin Pussy at the Wynwood, Miami venue Gramps, a favorite among locals in the alt/indie scene. Word clearly got out about the show - I have seldom enjoyed so many sightings of the rare queer punk Miamian. It was like seeing dozens of the nearly extinct Florida panthers corralled all together, lining up for beers.

Witnessing lead singer Ash Stixx bash her head to the beat before belting her impassioned lyrics into the microphone seemed to offer just the kind of catharsis this crowd was after.

Emo/post-hardcore band Gilt is known for their raw, bold, and searingly honest explorations of gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, and mental health through their one album and five EPs. Their latest EP,‘Conceit,’ was just released on May 6th, 2022.

“Our whole band is queer in one way or another,” explained Tyler. Representation is something the band talks about and scrutinizes constantly. They want to get it right.

“When I’m the writer and the singer, I get inspiration from my bandmates’ stories, but I’m careful not to take them on as my own. For example, I’m gender non-binary, but I’m not trans,” Tyler told me. “I listen to a band member’s experience as trans, but then I use subtle language or poetic imagery to show I’m not claiming it when I sing. We’ll speak more directly in interviews or in one-on-one conversations after the show. That way people who know us can be like ‘ok, they’re conscious about representation.’”

Tyler paused to take a breath and said to me apologetically, “This is like my whole life. I could go on about this forever.”

“Please, you’re making my job easy,” I replied.

Tyler smiled and explained that they go back and forth on this subject with Ash a lot.

“Ash really likes on-the-nose lyrics. A lot of bands who would call themselves queer-core would say, ‘it’s a love song, and we’re making it clear that we are gay in the song.’ I don’t write that kind of music, it’s more that the artists are the representation, and the content is just the content. So it’s like, ‘do you like this genre? Cool, this is a thing about us, by the way.’”

“It’s almost like the representation is the revolutionary act,” I said.

“That’s how I try to do it.” Tyler replied. “You know how in recording, you don’t always have to add EQ, you can subtract, and it’s actually better? It feels like that. I thought this strategy worked really well with christian metal core in the early 2000s where it’s not preachy but they were there talking to people after their shows.”

The differences in approach between Tyler and Ash also come down to genre.

“Ash’s favorite genre is metal-core, which is highly produced, with a lot of back-and-forth.” Tyler said. “I was the generation before that, which was bands like Fallout Boy, plus I was getting into post-hardcore. Thursday is my favorite band, which is very low-production.”

The two artists are nevertheless able to strike a balance between their sensibilities. A band spanning the Gen-Z/millennial spectrum, Tyler is 31 and Ash is 22. I asked what that feels like.

“Ash is showing me TikToks and I’m like, ‘let me tell you about the before-the-internet-times.’ Tyler joked. “Or I’m like, ‘let me tell you about the drama of your Myspace top 8.”

From a more conceptual standpoint, Tyler sees music today as being used more as a “functional device” that’s just one piece of a multi-sensory, interdisciplinary experience. With TikTok, music is paired with a video concept, personality, acting, and story.

“The days of listening to a record with the lights off in your bedroom are behind us,” Tyler said, matter of fact in tone, but seeming a little nostalgic.

“Music today is also a lot more artist-centric,” Tyler continued. “It’s all about the artist, who they are, their personality. And they’re allowed to be multidimensional. Look at Ed Sheeran - he just did the collab with Bring Me the Horizon. Not his genre at all. For me, Tyler the Creator was a total trailblazer in this respect. He started with dark, edgy rap, and then moved into pop music and fashion. And nobody had a problem with that, they’re not trying to label him.”

“The cult of personality is strong,” I agreed. Tyler nodded. “The focus really is on individual artists, huh?”

“It’s a weird time to be a band,” they laughed.

It’s a weird time to be anything, isn’t it? I joked.

Unlike those of us (couldn’t be me) who mope around at home in three-day old pajamas as a way of coping with the strangeness of our times, Gilt is taking action to transmute this deep existential unease into highly dynamic, energetic music. Identity-related anxiety, depression, grief, and loss also figure largely in their records.

Gilt’s latest EP, Conceit, grapples with the recent death of Ash’s father.

“A lot of people come up to her after the shows and say, ‘I’ve just lost a member of my family,’” said Tyler. “Sometimes they cry, and it’s a therapeutic experience. We want that, we want to explore sensitive topics like that.”

After we wrapped up our conversation, Gilt played all five of their new songs from Conceit that night on a very Miami technicolor stage. Magentas, blues, and greens illuminated a tiki hut-style thatched roof while a disco ball sent dots of light scattering across it. The musicians pounded on their instruments and shouted, cried, and howled. The tropical-meets-emo aesthetic held a bizarre charm.

The band each had many moments to shine, with Tyler slowing down a song by strumming softly on their guitar, then instantly jumping into a head-banging refrain where they stomped into every new note and their hair flung wildly around them. The band’s drummer, Ali Reed, displayed impressive command of the instrument on multiple crowd-rousing occasions. Ash kept the audience spellbound with their channeled, expressive frontperson physicality, not to mention a voice that effortlessly shifted from a soft confessional purr to a deep growl or an open-throated wail.

After a few songs Ash asked the crowd, “Do you want to hear us do a Citizen cover, or another original?

“ORIGINALLLL” screamed a man right in front of me, shaking his fists in the air. His call was amplified by everyone around us.

“Alright! Glad to hear it,” Ash said in a sweet, soft voice, looking genuinely touched. Then she punched her fists into the air and scream-sung the first verse.

Because it wouldn’t be a Bothering the Band interview without a few dumb questions, one of the first things I asked Tyler to break the ice was their favorite breakfast cereal.

“Is that even a question?” They asked, indignant.

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” I said confidently, gambling on shared taste buds.

“Exactly!” He shouted. We high-fived. I knew it was going to be a good interview after that.