The white void

A queer and Black history of white background music videos.

Image: Virgin Records

Watching late-night music videos on Rage as a kid was a huge part of my gay awakening. While my parents always finger-wagged at the forewarned ‘strong language’ and ‘adult themes,’ it was the glitzy choreography and very fruity costumes they should’ve been worried about. One video stuck with me, despite having only seen it once on the show: Frankie Knuckles' 'The Whistle Song' (1991). It featured a predominantly Black cast of dancers in a void-like white room; walls, ceilings, and floors seamlessly blended together through the magic of uniform lighting. They were dressed as regular townsfolk: referees, dog trainers, crossing guards, yet looked so chic as they struck these feminine, angular poses. Years later, I would find out that this dreamy queer-coded suburbia was one of the most iconic gay house music videos of all time.

If you traverse the dusty playlists of YouTube, you'll encounter a trove of similar music videos shot in front of a white background. Though the trope is most commonly associated with garage rock and hip-hop/R&B videos — think: Jet’s ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl’ (2003) or MC Hammer’s ‘U Can’t Touch This’ (1990) — the white background was a mainstay of house music in the early 90s. Pioneered by Black queer artists in Chicago, these music videos set the standard for camp, showcasing elements of vogue, editorial fashion, and drag/ballroom culture. But to understand why these videos became such important artefacts of queer history, we must go back to the 70s, where house music began.

House music got its name from ‘The Warehouse’ nightclub on Chicago's south side. It opened in 1977 and was almost exclusively frequented by Black and Latino queer people. During that time, gay bars and clubs were one of the only safe havens from the police violence that ravaged the city. There was also a growing anti-Black and anti-queer "Disco Sucks" movement, culminating in the 1979 ‘Disco Demolition Night’ where white rioters burned and destroyed disco records by the box. Facing a shortage of new music but an abundance of old hits, Black DJs were forced to get creative. The "Godfather of House" Frankie Knuckles and other trailblazers found new ways to chop up and remix old records without needing expensive equipment. They combined disco's hypnotic basslines and string orchestras with synths and drum machines to create an electrifying new sound that took the gay clubs by storm. Underground hits like Larry Heard’s ‘Can You Feel It’ (1988) and Marshall Jefferson’s ‘Move Your Body’ (1986) flooded the dancefloors as people from all around took notice.

The minute record labels caught wind of the genre’s rising popularity, they plucked artists from obscurity and signed deals to release their tracks commercially. For the first time, artists received a budget to promote their songs to mainstream audiences, and so, the white background house music video was born. ‘The Whistle Song’ was just the tip of this iceberg: between 1990 and 1993 the house scene exploded with all sorts of white background videos. CeCe Peniston stunned with her high kicks in ‘Finally’ (1991), Crystal Waters turned corporatewear into haute couture in ‘100% Pure Love’ (1991), and RuPaul graced the covers of fictitious magazines in ‘Supermodel (You Better Work)’ (1993). Though they were contending with high-budget, arthouse pop productions, these artists made do with what little they had, even if it was just some cheap shiny fabric and a plain white sheet. 

The starkness created a dreamlike fantasy, where Black queer people could don the clothes of runway models, business executives, and homeowners. Music videos became an escape from a world that forced queer people to stay underground, while embodying the concept of ‘realness’ within the queer ballroom scene where blending-in or ‘passing’ was seen as a valuable skill. Because society was hostile towards non-white, non-straight, or non-cisgendered people, queer people had to learn to act and dress ‘normal’ to survive. Accordingly, these videos carefully observed the skill and fashion sense of the dominant white culture while subverting its heterosexual mandate. 

Although these house records catapulted Black queer artists to moderate success, the story followed familiar patterns of exploitation, with big labels such as Trax Records failing to compensate their artists. The racism built into the industry meant it was almost always white people who took up power, enabling them to profit off the work of artists that were frequently queer people of colour. Adding insult to injury, white DJs increasingly attempted to replicate the success of Black DJs. It wasn't long before house became primarily associated with Eurodance tracks by white producers, including eventual millennial favourites like Haddaway's ‘What Is Love’ (1993) and September’s ‘Cry For You’ (2005). As straight, white audiences flocked to the gay clubs, the contributions of Black DJs to electronic music were slowly erased over time.

Nearly three decades later, the originators are staking their claim to house music and the white background video once again. With recent releases such as Lolita Leopard's ‘Crossover’ (2021) and Doechii's ‘Persuasive’ (2022), queer Black artists are taking centre stage with a fiery vengeance. These music videos subvert the 90s house aesthetic, however, switching out the mundane apparel for leopard-print corsets and colourful lace front wigs. Instead of blending in, they represent a new conception of ‘realness’ that has emerged with the growing visibility of drag and ballroom in pop culture; queer people of colour must stay true to their roots. What's more, high-resolution cameras have elevated the aesthetic of these videos: rather than hazy dream sequences, they now resemble high fashion catalogues, a stride towards a reality where queer fashion and art is championed.

The white background now becomes a space of boundless self-expression, echoing the words of legendary ballroom DJ Vjuan Allure: "We are not looking to mimic our straight counterparts or 'fit in' disguised as one of them. We are who we are; through the years, tears, fights, triumphs, and hardships, we remain better, stronger, and even more unapologetic." House music's spirit of struggle and resistance carries on, and it won’t stop until the white wall is burnt to the ground.