Queers in Your Ears: Rico Rodriguez on sharing our stories

29 APR 2023 -

"As queer people we don't share our stories," says Rico Rodriguez, one of the founders of Queers in Your Ears. ""Growing up in the straight world, you don't hear stories about queers at the dinner table or at birthdays and weddings. Or sharing from our elders." Queers in Your Ears is changing that by "Fighting homophobia one story at a time."

Rodriguez, a self-described "teacher, storyteller, semi-retired drag queen and percussionist," is a natural raconteur and the saga of Queers in Your Ears tumbles out in an excited rush. While at a festival at Fort York, telling stories to children—"they paid us a beer and a hot dog"—Rodriguez and company witnessed a comedy act. "We said, 'We can do that,' we should start storytelling for adults." Queers in Your Ears was born. The first show, in 1997, was upstairs in a small bar on Church St. "We weren't sure how many people would come," says Rodriquez. "It was packed, we had to turn people away. It was so highly successful we decided to do it again." The next year they appeared at Buddies, The Rose on Parliament, and established a residency at The ArQuives. And a slot at the Toronto International Storytelling Festival. "Not as part of the festival but part of festival week," explains Rodriguez. That changed. "Now we don't apply, We're invited. We've started to claim a space."

As the Toronto International Storytelling Festival trumpets for 2023: "We’ve come a long way since 1996! Yet, after 27 years of sharing their shenanigans with gleeful audiences, Queers In Your Ears still have more to tell because freedoms gained cannot be taken for granted." Rodriguez has much to say about the latter part of the blurb. He has done a lot of work in schools and is currently a union rep which has to be a tough job in Ontario's current climate. He references the recent turmoil over Pride flags in York Region. "All that bullshit about being groomers and recruiters. We're where we started thirty years ago. Things are not getting better, in some cases worse." That makes Queers in Your Ears "even more relevant." Sharing our stories. Creating an oral tradition that carries on.

Queers in Your Ears began as "fairy tales with queer content but we started delving into personal stories." Rodriguez gives a highly entertaining sampling of his greatest hits so far. He sketches out the story of when his mother discovered his alter ego Chabuca La Grande, during a chance encounter at a Pride drag stage. Like all great stories there are big laughs and an unexpected twist. He also references a story about an ex-lover's death from AIDS, "They're not all feel good," he says though his classic "Prayers from a Bathhouse" certainly sounds ecstatic. "At first people thought we were erotica," says Rodriguez. "Which we have been a part of . . ." But the focus has shifted to be "about the queer experience, the culture." For the festival Rodriguez is polishing "Training Wheels." "I've told the story many times but it's being worked on again. I only have fifteen minutes . . ."

The Queers in Your Ears collective—for the festival Rodriguez is joined by Clare Nobbs, Jeffrey Canton, elZie lee kam and TJ Banate—workshop their stories with each other and Rodriguez lets a few trade secrets slip. He talks about "the pizza principle. You have dough, tomato sauce and cheese, the rest is toppings. Don't make the story too basic, but not overloaded." He describes the process of finding the perfect telling detail, in one example a bottle of Chanel No 5 in a grotty washroom dressing room. 'We all see these things but you have to leave spaces for people to create it in their own head. See it in their imagination. To hold their hand and take them on a journey, we work really hard at that." And in the case of his current dilemma, "Trim here, trim there. Be economical. You don't have to repeat."

But he also explains "the beauty of storytelling. You use your body, your face and hands. We rehearse all of those things." Rodriguez sees storytelling as an art form of its own. There are elements of theatre, "it takes lots of memory," literature, "rewrite, rewrite, rewrite," but not public speaking which I immediately regret suggesting. "It's a different cadence, a speech is peppered with anecdotes. A story has a beginning, a middle and an end, even if the ending isn't resolved. It's telling a tale, crafting it so that it is a relatable thing." The process is also "nerve-wracking," even for this veteran. "A week out I'm really nervous. There's still more to learn, live with, rewrite. But we always deliver. You come out and the story takes on a life of its own. The energy of the stage and being in person . . . It's indescribable, very intense." The power of sharing our stories.