Christine and the Queens: the politics of dancing

To understand this pain, you need to go back a bit. Born in Nantes, to liberal parents, she was a creative child who took ballet lessons from age four but also wrote stories, poems and drew. She was, she says, content. “I loved studying, and I used humour as a way of being accepted quite early on,” she recalls. “People asked me to write their love letters. I was like Cyrano de Bergerac, behind the pretty ladies, writing.” However, as she reached adolescence, pressure from society began to bite and whatever truce she had with herself ended. “It was hard, I felt surrounded by secret injunctions from society to be something I was not,” she says, her eyes wide. “I felt too dirty, too queer, too weird.” Unsurprisingly, the first iteration of Christine was much darker than the redemptive pop she performs now; in a short film she created to accompany her debut, the self-released EP ‘Miséricorde’, a camera is fixed on her impassive face as she watches Cabaret in the pitch black. “That was my dark Berlin, Klaus Nomi phase,” she says, grinning slyly. Her performance style was different, too, with elements of the absurdist comedian Andy Kauffman. “I was alone with my computer and I was launching tracks in Logic and –“ she affects an elaborate, stage whisper – “I didn’t know how to use Logic then, so it was stopping all the time. I would emphasise the awkwardness of the long pauses by watching people, like… ” She locks me with an exaggerated stare. It is uncomfortable. But it’s the dancing that remains the most potent symbol of her taking back her autonomy. For her current tour she’s recruited dancers from different disciplines: a voguer, a hip hop dancer and a breakdancer. The idea was to compliment her own style of movement: borne out of improv, finessed with choreographer Marion Moton, but always coming from a specific place: “I have the impression that my energy comes from the moment of pure anger,” she reveals. “Being on stage is about remembering that, for me.”

As she’s become more comfortable in her skin – and you sense Christine is a potent vessel for self-discovery – the early distancing tactics and angular, Atelier-crafted suits have become something less forced. “Now I’m a bit more physical – I feel like an athlete and a young boy, and I have more muscles!” She flexes a bicep for emphasis. She envisions pushing this further, too: “I actually want to be this macho female. I’m kind of obsessed by it. The only woman who was both feminine and really macho was Madonna. In the 90s she was taking the lead, desiring everyone.” In an example of pop’s feedback loop, Madonna recently invited her on stage in France during ‘Unapologetic Bitch’ for a short routine incorporating some dramatised spanking and an exchange which culminated in Madonna handing her a banana as a thank-you gift. “She likes to test people, so I put the banana in my pants like a dick and I asked her out.” Mixmag must look shocked because she leaps to her own defence: “I dunno why! - I - I - I … that’s me on stage. I lose every inhibition I have!” Then she gathers her limbs back in, raises an eyebrow. “I ate the banana afterwards because I was stressed out.” Christine And The Queens, ladies and gentlemen.

Towards the end of our chat, she brings up her favourite French album, Serge Gainsbourg’s disco-inspired opus ‘Love On The Beat’. With its odes to prostitutes and New York queer clubs, it remains one of his most contentious releases. Which, of course, is precisely what Letissier likes about it. Just as the club irrevocably shaped Christine And The Queens, she envisions teaching the club how to find its feet again, in turn: “I do want to bring back this raw sexuality that can happen in clubs, like sweaty ways of relating purely physically. Because clubbing is about finding your physicality again, liking your body.” It’s a message that bears repeating, particularly in light of Orlando, an attack on the very idea of personal freedom that Christine and the Queen champions – the cornerstone that dance music was built on. Re-listening to her record in light of our conversation, one track stands out. Driven by a house beat, its lyrics will resonate with anyone who has found succour, refuge or just a few hours of escape on a Friday night: “And as I shake my crumbled bones, I’m safe and holy, safe and holy.”

Christine And The Queens ‘Chaleur Humaine’ is out now on Because