At its roots, queerness has always been present in Black art and music. From the beginning, the blues had Ma Rainey, rock ’n’ roll had Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and disco had Sylvester. Nightclubs and dance floors became spaces of refuge for Black LGBTQ+ people. Once the sounds of dance music reached Baltimore, it was only fitting that we would birth our own icon synonymous with club culture: Anthony “Miss Tony” Boston.
Going out in the early 1970s consisted of selecting songs from jukeboxes or hearing popular records being played from start to finish, but after club culture came to Baltimore, the city would change not just how the city experienced dance music, but how the world would. Inspired by the new wave of French discothèque known for bringing together all walks of life on the dance floor, Wayne Davis was one of the first DJs to bring the genre and art of mixing records to Baltimore in 1972. Following a trip to New York where he experienced The Loft, a groundbreaking nightclub for disco, Davis began his career as the resident DJ at Odell’s when it opened in 1976. Davis controlled the music while the wife of the owner worked the door and controlled who could enter, continuing their inspiration from New York clubs like Studio 54. This formula became the norm, which inherently segregated crowds by interest and, in turn, sexuality. But a chance encounter in this historic Baltimore nightclub in 1992 on their hip-hop night would change the future of club music forever.
Frank Ski, a Baltimore Club music pioneer, DJ, and producer was working one night when he heard a rhythmic serenade that parted the floor to expose a 6-foot-tall drag queen by the name of Miss Tony voguing through the club. After seeing Tony work the room, Ski introduced himself and the two became friends. Ski quickly invited Tony to the recording studio, where they made their first record together, “Tony’s Bitch Track,” which was released as an A-side to another now-classic record, “Whores in This House,” which Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion sampled in 2020 for their hit “WAP.”
Ski was the main producer for Miami rapper Uncle Luke in the late ’80s and early ’90s, meaning the records he was producing were being released both nationally and internationally, spreading the sound of Baltimore Club, with Miss Tony as a frequent collaborator. This was at the birth of Baltimore Club music, and Miss Tony would quickly become an identifiable voice and name in the genre. Recognizing the magnetism Miss Tony’s flamboyance carried, Ski would have Tony become his master of ceremonies at parties, where partygoers would pay Tony to shout out their cliques or neighborhoods on the mic.
Miss Tony was born on May 6, 1966, and would have turned 60 last month. He died 23 years ago in April, but his importance, influence, and the path he blazed for others remains strong.
When I first moved from the Eastern Shore to Baltimore to pursue music in 2015, I was already well aware of and inspired by Miss Tony. But I didn’t know I would occupy many of the same artistic lanes that were paved by his success and fearlessness. From interning at 92Q to recording and performing original club music and as an MC at parties much like Tony, it was his legacy that allowed me to navigate and maintain a successful career.
It can be hard to break through into music when you’re different, especially in the 2010s when that difference is being an openly LGBTQ+ artist, but nothing during my rise compared to the rigid reality that Tony would face in the 1990s as an openly gay man. Street culture and overt masculinity were the norm in hip-hop, “Don’t ask, don’t tell” was implemented by the military, and the LGBTQ+ community was still being deeply affected by the AIDS/HIV crisis. During this time Tony’s movement may not have been seen as shifting the culture, but the rich legacy he created was one that was bred out of authenticity, a winning recipe that still remains.
“When I first met Tony it was crazy, he had a lot of energy, and he was spicy,” recalls Maria “Big Ria” Hill, the voice heard on the classic song “Hey U Knuckleheads.” “I was like, okay, I don’t know how to take you, but once you get to know him, he’s a sweetheart.”
Tony’s authenticity and vibrant personality not only attracted people to him but also created a level of respect amongst his community. Even to this day Baltimore remains a melting pot of collaboration as newer artists look to the legends who paved the way by recognizing, before it was cool, that talent is talent and intersections of identity and our experiences in life allow us to find commonality more times than not.
Even to this day Baltimore remains a melting pot of collaboration as newer artists look to the legends who paved the way by recognizing, before it was cool, that talent is talent and intersections of identity and our experiences in life allow us to find commonality more times than not.
Hill, who was working the scene at the same time as Tony, remembers his unapologetic, larger-than-life personality. “That’s just who he was, he wasn’t ashamed of nothing, don’t try to be acting all sneaky and think he won’t call you out, cause he is,” she remembers, laughing, before adding that he was very “I’m me, take me or leave me, either way I’m going to be living in your brain.”
Tony not only became a pioneer in the clubs but also crossed over into local media in ways that Black LGBTQ+ people hadn’t done before. In 1994, Tony would become a part of Randy Dennis’ morning show on the most listened to local hip-hop station, 92Q, where he acted as the morning show’s entertainment reporter. This would allow Tony to be exposed to an even wider audience while still working in popular nightclubs around the city. Ski and Tony would reunite in 1996 when Ski joined the morning show, taking its popularity from 10th place to first locally. This assisted with the notoriety of Tony and allowed a platform to help spread a notable, respected, and openly gay voice publicly, something that was unheard of at the time.
In 1998, Tony renounced the Miss Tony character by visiting Victory Center Church and leaving bags of women’s clothing and shoes, declaring he had become saved and would be giving his life to Christ and making the change to the name “Big Tony.” This change would be a shift for many, as the over-the-top, brash, flamboyant personality that attracted many to him was now subdued, and he ceased to have conversations about gayness altogether, professionally and personally. This would create a bit of friction, as many felt betrayed — people loved Tony for his ability to say the things others were afraid to say. Despite this, he was still adored and upheld his position as a recognizable staple figure throughout the city until his untimely passing in April of 2003.
Tony’s early involvement in the genre, his presence in the clubs, and his iconic records made the genre more welcoming to LGBTQ+ artists and producers in Baltimore and beyond.
Since then, Baltimore has developed a more mainstream approach to hip-hop inspired by club music, with queer artists like myself (Kotic Couture), TT The Artist, abdu mongo ali, and Dapper Dan Midas carrying Miss Tony’s torch in our own ways.
“Tony taught me how to deal with the masses and straight people and certain demographics without fear,” Midas says.
“Tony taught me how to deal with the masses and straight people and certain demographics without fear.”
Dapper Dan Midas
After a pause, he adds: “He also taught me the power in humor.”
Midas has always woven humor into his music as a way of making it relatable on a different level to large audiences.
“I saw my attitude, and it gave me perspective on how my personality translates,” he says. “Seeing Tony helped me gain perspective on how other people viewed me.”
The word “visibility” is often thrown around, but in a city whose street culture has been popularized and glamorized, it can really matter. Having a notable and unapologetic figure like Miss Tony at the very beginning of club music helps remind us all to be more open to people’s character outside of their identity.
“I always saw an option for me to be something like that in the future in some way, and I love Miss Tony for that,” says AAVE, a producer, drag queen, and performer.
Music is often referred to as having a “DNA,” which is the instructions for its development, function, and reproduction. The DNA of Baltimore Club music will always be one that is rooted in the spirit of LGBTQ+ artists, from deriving its inspiration from house and disco to the actual creation of the sound and queer cultural influence through Miss Tony. The legacy of Black LGBTQ+ people will always have its place in dance music, but most importantly in Baltimore Club music, a genre that has influenced the world, in large part because of the brash bravery of Miss Tony.