Sublime Somerville wail a rally cry

Jimmy Somerville's haunting wail as "Smalltown Boy" begins, before the synth-pop beat kicks in, so typical of '80s dance music, touched me.

It's a mournful cry, a soulful call to fellow travelers, wounded as the song's protagonist has been, by homophobic attitudes culminating in physical violence, arrest and ultimately ostracization from his family.

Heartbreaking lyrics really: "Mother will never understand why you had to leave, But the answers you seek will never be found at home , The love that you need will never be found at home."

Headed for London on the train, the music video shows the young man (Somerville) at first alone and anxious but later smiling and sharing his lunch with two other gay men, Bronski Beat bandmates the late Larry Steinbachek and Steve Bronski.

His life leading up to leaving home has been a torment. Just for admiring a man diving into the local swimming pool, he's been hunted down like an animal and beaten to within an inch of his life.

I was 17 when I first heard this song and it was amazing to dance to but it was the music video which really captured my attention and raised a lot of questions in my mind.

Why was the slender young man being chased and beaten by a gang? Why was he arrested? Why wouldn't his father shake his hand when he leaves home for good? What had he done that was so wrong?

Somerville's vocal at the start of the song is sad yet beautiful and triumphant and even to this day, I remember the indignation I felt when I realized young people, like me, were the victims of savage condemnation all because of their sexuality.

Bronski Beat's next hit "Why?" confronted homophobia head-on and was the stand-out song on the group's smash "Age of Consent" album.

"You in your false securities,

Tear up my life, condemning me,

Name me an illness, call me a sin

Never feel guilty, never give in."

Again, Somerville's impossibly high notes scorch the lyrics into your brain and his strength and refusal to kow-tow to outmoded social mores are indisputably raw.

I had heard Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" many years earlier and, coupled with Bowie's fictional, androgynous, bisexual alter ego, Ziggy Stardust, that also stirred up a lot of questions in my mind.

I was not even in my teens and I was wondering how "Holly" had gone from "he to a she" just by plucking her eyebrows and shaving her legs on a bus barreling out of staid Miami.

Still, I figured, "Holly" was happier now and was even urging others to also "take a walk on the wild side" and shake off their small town blues and bigoted neighbors to find their tribes, even if it meant having to criss-cross America.

"Y.M.C.A" by the Village People was most definitely a gay anthem and, even at the age of 12, I realized these five guys were not interested in girls. After all, the song is addressed to a "young man" and invites him to seek out other men for "fun" at the "Y".

As we were awkwardly doing the regimented dance developed to accompany the song, I listened closely to the lyrics: "They have everything for young men to enjoy, You can hang out with all the boys..."

The "Cowboy" (Randy Jones), my favorite Village Person, was most definitely not winking and gyrating at us girls.

Boy George (George O'Dowd) completely blew my mind when I first heard and saw him perform "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" with his mixed-race band, Culture Club.

He was so ... well ... beautiful ... and his velvety voice implored his audience to examine their innate prejudices and realize that everybody has the right to free expression of their sexuality, of who they really are.

"Come inside and catch my tears

You've been talking but believe me

If it's true you do not know

This boy loves without a reason."

Exactly, right, love has no reason. Love is wild and unexpected and goes where it wants to go. It cannot be controlled or harnessed or tied down or labelled or dictated to.

I was in my last year of high school and we all adored Boy George. He was bold and brave and dressed like we wanted to dress -- layered, torn, raggedy clothes with overlaid, studded belts, pointed shoes and heavy, pancake, glittery make-up.

But one of the most impactful, gay-themed songs I've ever heard was Pete Townshend's "And I Moved" (1980). It is mostly instrumental but the scant lyrics describe a brief gay encounter after which one of the men feels wracked by guilt and regret and weeps uncontrollably.

The rambling, ricocheting piano which carries the listener on the fateful journey is unforgettable.

This resplendent riff is the reason I was familiar with the song but it is only recently that I've understood the back story.

The song's other man has eyes that are "silent lies" and hands that are "ice-exciting". He's big and strong ("His figure merely filled the space" (doorway)) and he lays Townshend back like an "empty dress".

"But a minute later, he was weeping

His tears, his only truth."

The rollercoaster melody gives the song a dream-like nuance, it's a memory of a fleeting encounter which has left an indelible mark on the protagonist.

He has nothing but compassion for the other man, so weighed down by doubt and confusion. Hence, somewhat defiantly, "I moved toward him" as the singer seeks to reassure and comfort the other.

The song is a celebration of the uber-talented Townshend finally "coming out" and letting the world know of his bisexuality, which, before this song, was to a large extent masked and only glimpsed on his first post-The Who solo album "Empty Glass".

But it's also incredibly sad, just as Somerville's voice is sad. And it's wrong that these men have been shunned and shamed about their ways of loving others.