On the edge of the West End, where the fringes of Richmond bleed into the sprawl of Henrico, I came across what could only be described as a warehouse — jutting out of the asphalt and framed in a wild tangle of dogwoods. A door hung open on rusted hinges; laughter emanated out into the warm summer evening.
This was my first introduction to Flora & The Fauna: a defiant laugh where it’s least expected, joy in spite of the world around it.
This wayward building of stone and concrete served as the band’s rehearsal space; instant coffee stood haphazardly on shelves, snack tins and spilled Diet Coke splayed out on the floor, great heaps of speaker wire crossed this way and that.
They were practicing when I arrived, beginning with their first release: “Northbound Train,” an affecting fragment of small-town melancholia infused with the lovesick melodies of pop’s bygone eras. Their vocals evoke a certain alternative sensibility, but the combination of vintage-inspired electric piano and a deft bass guitar would sooner draw comparison to acts like The Animals or even The Doors.
The composition was immediately fascinating to me, and at the track’s conclusion, the band came to meet me, still beaming with an infectious pride.
We settled on a couch in the dim room’s corner, which I suspected to be older than each of us, and exchanged introductions. Flora, the titular founding member, identified herself as the band’s lead vocalist, with Alex on drums, Leeah handling bass, and Valerie as the resident keys player and saxophonist.
The band’s chemistry with one another was instantly apparent, and they wasted no time exchanging jokes, raunchy anecdotes, and the kind of carefree laughter I had already begun to associate with the group.
I asked them to explain the band’s inception to me — how a four-piece of trans rock and rollers came to be in the middle of the American South. The question provoked a couple of smiles, as the story revolves around a series of chance encounters at Richmond’s preeminent lesbian bar: Babe’s.
Leeah joined after being flagged down by Flora following a particularly moving karaoke performance, while Valerie and Alex became fast friends with Flora following a sapphicly charged volleyball game in the bar’s outdoor courtyard. What once was Flora’s solo project formed into a partnership based upon community, with Flora herself saying: “What began as my thing has very much become our thing.”
Flora & The Fauna have begun their presence on streaming services, so naturally, I inquired into what the next step would be for the band now that they’ve braved the digital landscape.
There was a little shifting among the members, but the consensus seemed to be that they’re committed to the creative freedom afforded to them by the local circuit. Valerie, the aforementioned keyboardist/saxophonist, expressed a desire for the route taken by Richmond’s own Lucy Dacus:
“…the ideal would be to stay DIY until labels are fighting over us,” she said. Then Flora chimed in, “But in this political climate, what is the likelihood any label wants to sign four trans women?”
The question is a fair one, but in many regards, it’s a strange consideration to be confronted with — as Flora & The Fauna’s music isn’t explicitly political in any concrete sense. Their songs released thus far have been focused on love, interpersonal connection, abstract feelings.
But the band expressed mixed feelings about their reputation as one of Richmond’s largest trans-fronted bands.
“I’m always afraid the wrong four seconds of the wrong video will find the wrong audience,” Valerie said.
Flora added: “I would love if, just sometimes, people would listen to us and not know who we are. Not know that we’re trans.”
There was a sense of exhaustion in the group now. It seemed like a complex feeling: to be politicized without one’s consent, and scrutinized through a lens one never asked for.
I asked if they felt their band’s formation was resistance in its own way, and if they felt that their music was its own form of protest. Alex, the drummer, shook her head.
“I’m not here to represent anybody but myself.”
The band seemed to mostly agree with this, but they each had their own individual thoughts on the concept. Valerie shrugged her shoulders and said, “Our presence in the music scene is a form of activism in itself. There’s a certain amount of transgression in simply existing as a trans woman.”
One could almost sense the presence of the burden the band spoke of—the harsh expectation of resistance. But don’t trans women deserve to sing of love too? Must every uttered word be furthering some cause?
The source of the frustration seemed to be that Flora & The Fauna saw themselves as trans and artists, while much of the world around them saw only trans artists. There are many multitudes contained within the distinction.
Despite the expectations that threaten to ensnare them, Flora & The Fauna refuse to be categorized — or perhaps more accurately, generalized. This was something recurring in my conversation with the quartet: a defiant sense of joy and individuality.
They kept with this theme when they played one of the songs on their upcoming record for me, a funk-rock voyage under the working title of “Black Hole.” It would seem that in the near future, a wider array of influences will creep into the band’s setlists and, eventually, an upcoming album filled with jazz-fusion-inspired synthesizers, emotive vocals, and an unwavering core of old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll.
Flora & The Fauna will continue to evolve, as will its members—defined not by any label but by an enduring personal spirit. So stay tuned. Their music, and upcoming album, are coming to a venue near you. But no matter the stage, you can expect the permeating essence of queer joy to radiate out from the stage and into the world at large.
Photo by Davis Gray Watson
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