For Andy, music has always been more than just sound—it’s a deeply personal archive of queer experience. His podcast, Tracks of Our Queers, launched on January 11, 2023, and has since become a space for LGBTQ+ guests to explore the songs that shaped their journeys.
Andy keeps his process minimal, embracing the natural flow of conversation while ensuring the highest audio quality. He doesn’t believe in over-editing—he trims only the truly unnecessary, letting each guest’s voice and story breathe. But podcasting isn’t just hitting record and hoping for the best. The hardest skill Andy has developed? Balancing preparation with instinct, ensuring each episode moves seamlessly while allowing room for spontaneity.
Ben: Tell me a little bit about yourself and Tracks of Our Queers. How did it come to be?
Andy: I’ve loved music my entire life. It’s universal to the human condition, but in the last few years, I’ve been thinking more about the specific relationship queer people have with music. Music soundtracks critical moments in our lives—figuring out our identity, falling in love, dealing with breakups, and finding strength.
Looking back, I remember the music I leaned on as a teenager while trying to understand myself, and then later in my twenties—especially through the infamous Saturn’s Return when everything turns upside down. Now, in my early thirties, I feel more confident than ever, and I still turn to music to amplify those amazing feelings.
I wanted to have conversations with other queer people about the music that shaped them. Tracks of Our Queers started from a desire to replicate the chats I’d have over a bottle of wine in a pub, but with a mic in front of us.
Ben: What was the turning point from being interested in this idea to actually producing and broadcasting a podcast?
Andy: A few years before the pandemic, I started a podcast with a very good friend called Oral Fixation—that’s “oral” spelled a-u-r-a-l. It was just an opportunity to chat about queer music, dedicating each episode to an album that meant something to us or to a guest. When my co-host signaled he was done, I knew I wasn’t.
I needed to figure out a solo format that worked, and I knew I couldn’t talk about an album by myself for an hour. So I made it guest-focused. I share my own stories when relevant, but it’s really about platforming other people’s experiences.
Ben: What’s been the most surprising or emotional response you’ve had from a guest?
Andy: Early on, I interviewed Johnny Seymour, a DJ, producer, and party curator in Sydney. Johnny moved from Tasmania to Sydney in their teens, right before the HIV/AIDS crisis hit. They spoke about the darkness and shame they felt growing up queer in a small town, and how Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat was the catalyst for their move. That song was a lifeline, a moment of clarity.
Hearing that story distilled the power of queer anthems for me. The same song can be an anthem of survival and, decades later, a euphoric moment on the dance floor. That’s the magic of queer music—it carries history and emotion across generations.
Ben: How does intimacy shape the sharing of the queer experience in podcasting?
Andy: It’s critical. I used to feel insecure about not being a professional journalist, but now I love that I’m a one-queer show. When my guests understand that, they relax.
One of my favorite questions to start with is asking about their earliest musical memory. It taps into nostalgia, identity, and emotion. From there, we talk about when they started developing their own taste—often in their teens, which is such a formative time. Those opening questions set the stage for a deeper, more intimate conversation.
Ben: What songs define your own queer journey?
Andy: This is impossible to answer definitively! It changes all the time. But in the last few years, I’ve been on a journey with George Michael. I didn’t take much notice of him while he was alive, but after he passed, I dove into his work.
He was one of the biggest superstars in the world, living as a gay man in the public eye. His music tackled sex positivity, love, and the tension between wanting to be promiscuous and craving domestic stability. He’s become a defining artist for me. If we’re talking hardcore divas, Madonna’s Confessions on a Dance Floor was a revelation when I was 15. And my first experience with drag? The Spice Girls.
Ben: Do you think music has an inherent eroticism?
Andy: When I think of eroticism in music, I don’t necessarily think about sex—I think about the empowerment that music can bring. It’s about that feeling when you’re switched on to your own sexual energy, when you feel completely yourself. Some artists do this effortlessly.
For me, the early ‘90s were dripping with sensuality. Sade’s Cherish the Day is incredibly sexy—not in a literal way, but in the way it moves, like treacle. Janet Jackson’s Janet album is another perfect example. Around that time, Madonna was doing Erotica, which was more aggressive and dominant, while Janet was sensual and empowered. They’re both different facets of eroticism, and I love them both.
Ben: What kind of guests do you want to feature in the future?
Andy: I want a mix—Australian queers, UK queers, American queers, and beyond. Diversity in backgrounds, identities, and genders is really important to me.
Some guests are personal heroes, like Margaret Cho, and some are people who’ve been mentors in my own queer journey. And then there are those who don’t think they have anything interesting to say—those guests often end up being the most fascinating.
Ben: Do you have a dream guest?
Andy: I have a spreadsheet of all my potential guests, and then at the bottom, I have my Northern Star list—people I probably won’t get but dream about.
Armistead Maupin, who wrote Tales of the City, is high up there. RuPaul, of course—his knowledge of music is insane. Honey Dijon would be a dream, but her management told me she’s not doing any interviews right now. One day!
Ben: What’s next for the podcast?
Andy: I just want more ears on it. I have a dedicated listener base who gives great feedback, and I know the concept works. I set out to have these conversations I’d have in a pub, and people are connecting with them. That’s all I want—more people to find the podcast and feel seen in these stories.
Tracks of Our Queers is available on all major streaming platforms. If you’re a music-loving queer, or just love hearing incredible stories, this is one to add to your queue.