Laura Jane Grace has answered every question about her gender transition a hundred times, but she still manages to make it sound like a conversation instead of a lecture. Sitting backstage at Louisville’s Forecastle Festival in 2014, she’s calm, funny, and maybe a little amused that Transgender Dysphoria Blues has become one of the most talked-about punk records in years.
“Every band wants a story,” I tell her. She nods, grinning. “Yeah, but it’s not even bands—it’s journalists,” she says. “Most of the time nobody cares what snare drum I used or what amp I played. So when there’s actually something real to talk about, I’ll talk about it all day. It’s my life. It’s the record. They’re the same thing.”
Transgender Dysphoria Blues isn’t just an album title; it’s autobiography, protest, and therapy all crammed into thirty minutes of melodic fury. Grace has written about politics and identity since the Gainesville squats, but this time she wrote herself into the story literally. “It’s all connected,” she says. “The story, the motivation, the songs—it’s one thing.”
She’s aware of what her visibility means. “I don’t set out to be a role model,” she insists, “but I have a platform. If I’m gonna talk, I’d rather talk about something real than something that doesn’t matter.”
That’s the paradox of Against Me! in 2014: the most punk band in the world by virtue of not caring about being punk at all. “We spent years answering questions about what label we were on, trying to justify what is or isn’t punk rock,” Grace says. “I couldn’t care less. This is punk because it’s honest.”
Half the band left before making the record. “There was only one that really mattered—Andrew,” she admits. “That was a blow.” Still, she sees the upheaval as renewal. “We’re a better band now. Everyone’s on the same page and excited. It brings new life to the old songs too.”
That energy spills into tracks like “Black Me Out,” a blistering finale that could’ve fit on their earliest records. “It’s one of my favorites,” she says. “You’re not wrong about it sounding like old Against Me!.” Then there’s “Osama Bin Laden as the Crucified Christ,” a title that still makes promoters sweat. “The name’s arbitrary,” Grace shrugs. “The song isn’t about him. It’s about how truth is based on perspective—and that point where you just say, ‘fuck it.’”
For a band that started playing anarchist basements, Transgender Dysphoria Blues is surprisingly tuneful. “Smoother,” I suggest. She laughs. “Maybe. Every song starts acoustic. Then the band adds grit.” The result is punk that isn’t allergic to melody—a record that’s both confessional and furious, the sound of personal liberation disguised as rock catharsis.
Grace doesn’t care much for the current state of guitar music. “Rock’s never been fair. It’s usually the bands with the least to say that get the biggest. But competition’s good when it’s friendly—when you see your peers do something great and think, ‘We’ve gotta match that.’ Competing with what’s on the radio? Pointless.”
She’s also becoming comfortable on the other side of the mic. “I just finished a show for AOL Originals,” she says. “They followed us on tour, and I got to interview people I admire—authors, activists, whoever. It’s easier throwing the questions than answering them.” She grins when I tell her that’s my line.
Even after the most personal record of her life, she’s already thinking forward. “We just put out a 7-inch with a new song,” she says. “We’re recording shows for a live record. I’ll need a reset before another album, though. Once I’ve said what I needed to say, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You finish a record, then ask, ‘Who am I now?’”
It’s that question—Who am I now?—that keeps Against Me! vital when most of their peers are busy chasing nostalgia tours or side hustles. Grace may be singing about identity, but she’s also fighting for rock’s. “We’re not trying to be heard in any specific place,” she says. “The music comes out how it comes out. If people like it, great. If not, it’s still real.”
Perspective, truth, identity—Grace keeps circling the same words, the same fight. And maybe that’s the point. Punk was never supposed to be about perfection; it was about turning your life into noise loud enough to be heard. For Against Me!, the noise is still righteous, still real, and—against all odds—still evolving.
Watch the interview above and then check out the video below.
