Information/Write-up
Jackie Shane was born on May 15, 1940, in Nashville, Tennessee, and from her earliest years she knew herself to be different. By the age of five she was dressing as a girl, and by thirteen she told her mother she was a woman in a man’s body. In a time and place defined by the rigid violence of Jim Crow, her mother’s support and her own certainty carried her forward. Music became her natural voice: she sang in church choirs, steeped in gospel’s power, and developed into a formidable drummer and performer. By her teens she was working with figures like Joe Tex, Big Maybelle, and Little Willie John, while absorbing the flamboyant energy of Little Richard, who became both inspiration and friend. But the South was no place for a young Black trans woman. After seeing the realities of segregation—where she could work in white households but not sit beside their members in public—she made the bold decision to leave. A carnival troupe gave her the chance to escape, and by 1959 she had begun the journey that would carry her north to Canada.
In Montreal she joined the band of trumpeter Frank Motley, whose restless shuffle between cities eventually brought her to Toronto. Arriving in 1961, she found a place that felt instantly like home, declaring later that while you cannot choose where you are born, you can choose your home, and hers was Canada. Toronto’s burgeoning Yonge Street scene was alive with R&B clubs, jazz rooms, and late-night dancehalls, and Jackie Shane became its undisputed queen. Onstage she was magnetic: tall, elegant, dazzling in sequined suits and makeup, with a voice that was equal parts gospel fire and soul vulnerability. Crowds flocked to see her at the Sapphire Tavern and other clubs, where she held audiences spellbound not just with her singing but with her monologues—wry, wise, and defiantly proud.
Her breakthrough came in 1963 with a searing version of William Bell’s “Any Other Way,” released on the Sue label. The song soared to No. 2 on Toronto’s CHUM chart and carried a sly double edge: when Jackie sang “tell her that I’m gay,” the word could be heard both as “happy” and as a subversive declaration of identity. She followed it with singles like “Money (That’s What I Want)” and “You Are My Sunshine,” and in 1967 issued a live album, Jackie Shane Live, that captured the intensity of her nightclub shows with the Frank Motley band. Record labels including Motown and Atlantic came calling, and George Clinton even invited her to join Parliament-Funkadelic. But Jackie refused all offers, distrustful of the industry and insistent that her power came not from studios but from the communion of live performance. “When I walk out on stage, I’m the show,” she said.
Then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she disappeared. In 1971 Jackie retired from music to care for her mother and aunt in Los Angeles, and later in Nashville. After her mother’s passing in 1997, she withdrew almost completely from public life, so much so that rumors circulated that she had died. For decades she lived quietly, reclusive but content, until a slow rediscovery began. In 2010 CBC aired the documentary I Got Mine: The Story of Jackie Shane, sparking new recognition. The Numero Group’s 2017 anthology Any Other Way—a double album of her singles, live tracks, and between-song monologues—brought her back into the spotlight, earning a Grammy nomination for Best Historical Album. Jackie herself, still in Nashville, gave rare interviews, reflecting on her past with grace. “After such a long time, people still cared,” she said. “And now those people who are just discovering me—it’s overwhelming.”
When Jackie Shane died on February 22, 2019, at the age of 78, she left behind more than a catalogue of songs; she left an indelible example of living authentically against every possible obstacle. Since then, she has been commemorated with murals in downtown Toronto, plaques at the site of the Sapphire Tavern and in her hometown of Nashville, and even a Heritage Minute celebrating her life. Documentaries and retrospectives continue to expand her legend, underscoring her place not only as one of Toronto’s most dynamic soul performers, but as a pioneer of trans visibility long before such language even existed. Jackie Shane’s story is one of courage, style, and uncompromising artistry—an artist who, for those who saw her on stage, remains unforgettable, and for those discovering her now, feels as fresh and vital as ever.
-Robert Williston
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