The Atlanta music scene has long been a bastion of cultural rebellion, where subversion finds its pulse in the city’s distinctive rhythm. Recently, this rebellion has taken on a glittering, transformative form as queer and trans artists reimagine what it means to thrive and exist on their own terms. At the heart of this movement lies a deep commitment to joy—a kind that is unapologetic, defiant, and uncontainable. To better understand this radical transformation, I sat down with Javi, an emerging artist whose work embodies the electrifying energy of Atlanta’s subversive underground music scene.

I first encountered Javi at a show tucked inside a skate shop in Tucker. Their presence was magnetic—lyrics that celebrated “hot girl shit,” wrapped in a laid-back elegance, left me both enamored and energized. I couldn’t decide whether to throw ass or glide through the space, so I did both. Javi’s art thrives at the intersection of liberation and community. Dubbed “fag rap,” their music is a reclamation of language and space, tearing down the hypermasculine and heteronormative barriers that have long defined the genre. For Javi, music isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about creating a utopia where joy and chaos collide for those who have often been pushed to the margins.

Javi’s ethos is palpable in every aspect of their work, from their lyrical defiance to their playful production. Their 20-minute mixes feel like a tapestry of sound—fat, juicy basslines contrast with delicate, fairy-like melodies, mirroring the duality of queer existence. It’s bold, tender, and unapologetically free—a sonic rebellion against the notion that queer art must conform to any singular aesthetic.

The journey to this point wasn’t linear but deliberate. Javi draws inspiration from a blend of sources, ranging from *Where the Wild Things Are* to the gritty beats of underground producer NolanBrollin. This fusion of childhood whimsy and raw realism defines their work. For Javi, DIY isn’t just a method—it’s a mindset. Rejecting the corporate music industry’s gatekeeping, they create music on their own terms, ensuring it remains accessible to the community that inspires it.

But Javi’s music isn’t escapism—it’s resistance. By centering queer joy, they challenge the narrative that queer existence is solely defined by trauma. In a world that often tries to erase them, Javi’s music declares, “We are here, we’re queer, and we’re having a damn good time.”

This ethos shines brightest in Javi’s upcoming house record, a project explicitly crafted “for the club, for the gays.” With pulsating beats and ethereal flourishes, the record feels like an invitation to dance, connect, and celebrate. It’s an extension of Javi’s belief that art isn’t just about creation—it’s about building community. For Atlanta’s queer DIY scene, the club isn’t just a venue; it’s a sanctuary. In a world where trans and queer people face heightened marginalization—amplified by recent political hostility—these spaces become revolutionary. They’re where freedom, safety, and radical joy converge.