Shirley Bassey has been a family favourite for decades, from her grand cinematic James Bond themes (the only artist to have sung for the franchise more than once) to her shamelessly sparkly glamour, and the remarkable longevity of her career is a testament to her mainstream acceptance. What I love most about her though, is her unique appeal to queer audiences. Bassey's back catalogue is understandably huge with hit singles that span over six decades (something for the Taylor Swift gays that love to obssess over chart statistics to chew on), but within that we can find the characters that Bassey is constantly drawn to, and who her persona has become aligned with. Behind the more frothy pop sounds of Kiss Me, Honey Honey, Kiss Me and As I Love You, we find that classic Bassey strength in her ballads.
“Just as she weaves through the story of black British music itself, Bassey is an instrument through which we can see where we have come from, and where we have yet to goâ€
1960 sees Bassey release As Long As He Needs Me, the doomed love song Nancy sings in Oliver! about her abusive husband, as well as The Party's Over, a wistful lament for an unrequited romance. I Who Have Nothing is a desperate attempt to win a man who is clearly interested in someone else, and What Now My Love is an absolutely distraught cry for help in an increasingly lonely world. Bassey emerges as a strong romantic figure with buckets of heartache to go around, something many closeted (and non-closeted) queer people would have easily been able to identify with. Who else knows the pain of watching someone you love choose someone who they can openly take to clubs and restaurants when you, undesirable (and illegal) creature that you are, can only watch them from afar, nose pressed up against the window pane? This throughline of pain (geddit?) paints Bassey as a tragic heroine and thus places her in such hallowed company as Judy Garland, Janis Joplin and Maria Callas, the only difference being that Bassey is still alive and kicking at almost 90 years old.
In tracking the career of Shirley Bassey and seeing her succeed in spaces not yet known for their racial diversity (the UK Singles Chart, the Royal Variety Show, the BBC where she hosted two series of The Shirley Bassey Show), I am reminded of the incredible American opera singer Leontyne Price. Born ten years before Bassey, Price came from segregated Mississippi and managed to carve out a place for herself in the famously white world of opera, becoming a recognised star of La Scala, Vienna, London, everywhere. Starting in the 1940s and coming to prominence in the 50s, Price broke barriers in America the same way Bassey would do in Britain. We can't talk about global superstars like Whitney Huouston, Tina Turner and Beyonce without acknowledging the black divas that broke the ground before them, the stars who proved to music directors and record labels and TV executives that black women could command audience attention and enter into the mainstream.
Bassey's voice is her most important quality, it is powerful, resonant, moving, but she never scrimped on her visuals. Her glamour is as legendary as her longevity, arriving to perform at Glastonbury by helicopter and stomping around in rhinestone-encrusted wellies and a full length sequin gown, or emerging from glittering stagelights wrapped in huge feather boas and chiffon capes on low quality television specials. It is this quality which is so often imitated by drag queens when they wish to evoke Dame Shirley. That longing for glamour is partly what endears Bassey to her queer audiences; you can be drab as anything, you can be working at an office, or a supermarket, or down the Welsh mines, but when you go home and listen to that Bassey record, you can be enveloped by the very glitter she seems to exhale. Josephine Small said that “She was never afraid to show her flare, and exploring a performer's aesthetic is a huge part of this exhibition. What they wear impacts how the fans dress, like with Two Tone, how fans started raiding charity shops for 1940s suits and Jamaican Rude Boy style. It’s an interesting way to explore the whole culture of sound, not just sound itself.â€
Having listened to almost all of Shirley Bassey's discography, some albums stand out to me more than others. 1970's Something has long been a favourite, with her version of My Way really doing things for me (for what is a woman? And what has she got? If not herself, then she has nought!) 1973’s Never, Never, Never with its title track, and the English version of the Italian song Grande, Grande, Grande being one of my most beloved songs of all time is also a gem that shouldn't be missed. But I think one of the best Bassey records is actually 2000's The Remix Album: Diamonds Are Forever, featuring some of the diva's best tracks remixed by the most iconic DJs from the turn of the century; Groove Armada, Away Team, Kenny Dope and Nightmares on Wax. It is here where we see how Bassey's voice can bridge the gap between past and present, history and fantasy, retro and future. Just as she weaves through the story of black British music itself, Bassey is an instrument through which we can see where we have come from, and where we have yet to go. The divas says it best in her 2009 song The Girl From Tiger Bay; I bought a ticket of a lifetime, there’s no denying who I am, forever young, I will stay the girl from Tiger Bay.
