How Stacey Hotwaxx Hale Revolutionized Detroit’s Music Scene as a Black Lesbian Woman
Decades later, the Ferndale Pride headliner is still setting the beat for Detroit’s music future
Stacey Hotwaxx Hale is the embodiment of Detroit talent and grit.
When I meet her at Spot Lite Detroit on a hot spring afternoon, she’s finishing up a business meeting, dressed to the nines in a cozy Detroit Lions sweatsuit. Her blue-detailed nails, silver Detroit D earrings and blue-tinted shades say it all — she’s a true fan of her city.
And for nearly a half century the city has loved her right back.
Dubbed “The Godmother of House Music,” Hale, who began her career in the '80s, was the first woman to spin house music on Detroit radio. Her first radio gig was at WGPR 107.5, and after beating out 600 DJs and rappers in the 1985 Motor City Mix contest, she landed a spot at WJLB 97.9 the following year. By the 1990s, her signature sound was broadcasting on mainstream stations like 95.5 and 96.3. In other words, if you listened to the radio any time during those two decades, you knew the name “Hotwaxx.”
Breaking into Detroit’s male-dominated DJ scene as a queer Black woman in the '80s wasn't just rare — it was revolutionary. This milestone wasn't just about spinning tracks. It was about shattering glass ceilings and creating pathways for generations of women DJs who would follow in her formidable footsteps. It’s no wonder, then, that Hale was inducted into Nashville’s National Museum of African American Music in 2019.
“I realized that nobody can do what I’ve done because I already did it,” she says. “Being able to live and embrace the way sound and times have changed, I’m very excited about that.”
Today, Hale holds DJ residencies in both Detroit (at Spot Lite) and Berlin, captivating crowds with her genre-bending sets filled with unmistakable Detroit soul. Her sound blurs lines — house, funk, hip-hop, Motown and more — but is always rooted in her own tastes.
“I don’t play nothing I don’t like,” she says. “I worked in radio… I’d find a mix that I liked so we’d satisfy both things — you liking the pop, and me liking that deep, underground house groove.”
That commitment to authenticity has always set her apart — especially in a scene where few women, particularly queer Black women, had a seat at the table. Whether spinning in a warehouse or for a crowd of 2,000 at a picnic, Hale has always played with intention, bridging divides of race, genre and gender.
“I wanted to play for the Black men the most. That was my favorite, favorite thing to do,” she says. “It was just a lot of love and very progressive and just... the freedom of that is unique. It's just cool.”
She continues: “I can't be out there playing all music for the white boys. I can't be out there playing music all for the Black boys. So how do you get the mix? What do you do? Pay attention. You gotta think. You gotta listen. So I found a way.”
In the early '90s, Hale co-founded the Detroit Regional Music Conference with fellow DJ John Collins — a pioneering effort to break down genre silos. The event brought together hip-hop artists, gospel singers, rock bands and techno DJs under one roof, laying groundwork for a more collaborative, cross-genre music scene in the city.
Even now, Hale is laser-focused on uplifting the next generation. She’s building a studio near the Detroit River to teach youth how to DJ. She mentors with Girls Rock Detroit and other local groups, and previously founded the Lesbians of Color Support Network (LOCS), a vital resource for queer women of color in the city.
“You have to pay it forward,” she says. “If everything I know stays with me, it won’t live.”
This summer, Hale is doing just that, taking center stage as one of three headliners — all women — at Ferndale Pride, appearing at 6 p.m. May 31 on the Woodward Dance Stage. Sharing the bill with trans multi-instrumentalist Baddie Brooks and fellow DJ Rimarkable, Hale’s inclusion reflects her status as a legend and mentor.
Ferndale Pride Executive Director Julia Music says Hale was a natural choice.
“A triple headliner situation is something we've never done,” Music says. “I really, really love that Stacey is like the senior leader of the group, because what a godmother to have at a queer event.”
Music, who grew up listening to Hale on Detroit radio, says her ability to blend old and new defines what a “Detroit sound” means today.
“She’s just such a great fit for our event,” Music says. “We want to show off how much amazing talent lives right here. She’s a changemaker.”
“When you have talent like Stacey Hotwaxx Hale and like Rimarkable and Baddie Brooks, it’s like, let’s just shine a light on these incredible women, because they’re gonna shine their light back onto this audience. And we’re gonna have a great, great time.”
That influence is clear even during our interview, when a young local DJ known as Lost Boy encounters Hale and excitedly updates her on his recent break and return to the scene. It’s clear by the look on his face that he looks up to her, and Hale calls him one of her favorite rising artists in Detroit.
In 2023, Hale’s legacy was immortalized in a literal way: with a mural along Woodward Avenue, located between Baltimore Street and Endicott Avenue by the bridge overpass. Painted during the BLKOUT Walls Street Art Festival, the rainbow-hued artwork includes her portrait, her name and the title “Godmother of House.”
“Having that mural saying ‘godmother of house,’ to me it says, we acknowledge house music, so that will live on,” she says.
For Hale, house music is more than just a sound — it’s a lived history. Long before the genre had a name, she was spinning its early forms simply because she liked the way it made people feel.
Some dismissed it back then as “gay music.” But for Hale, it was always just good music.
Though Chicago is credited as house music’s birthplace, Hale offers a more complex origin story. She recalls her connection to two key figures: Colonel Abrams, a Detroit-born singer, and Jesse Saunders, the Chicago DJ credited with producing the first house record, “On & On,” in 1984.
“They were friends, and they fell out, or whatever, and so Colonel went to New York, and he put out a track called ‘Music Is the Answer.’ It's the exact same music,” she says. “I don't have no clue of the story, but I know it's the same repetitious track — except he's singing on his.”
“So if they collabed to make house music or to make a track, and then they fell out… this is what one put out, and this is what the other put out. And one happened to be from Detroit. It don’t take rocket science.”
In other words: Detroit’s fingerprints on house run deeper than the history books suggest.
“Nobody told me. I didn’t read it, I heard it, I lived it, and I managed to speak to both men,” she adds. “I didn’t know that. Colonel came here, he told me.”
She also points to Dimitri, who packaged genre distinctions — house for Chicago, techno for Detroit — into slick triple vinyl packs that helped define global perceptions.
But for Hale, labels don’t mean much. “When it really gets down to it, who cares,” she says with a shrug.
She feels the same way about labels around her identity. “What are you gonna say? ‘She’s a lesbian’? Everybody knows. I don’t need the title… it don’t change nothing,” she says. “I’m always into the people, because we are the people.”
When it comes to her Ferndale Pride set, she’s less concerned with identity politics and more tuned in to the energy of the crowd. “I'm happy. I'm very happy, happy to do it. I'm always reading and feeling and looking and seeing the crowd. That's the best way to do it… My same theory just always holds, and that's what separates the good DJs from just OK.”
That attentiveness shows in her prep, too: custom folders for every gig and a commitment to staying fresh, especially when playing for 3,000-strong Berlin audiences.
Locally, Hale is proud to share the stage with Rimarkable and Baddie Brooks, two artists she admires deeply. She first met Brooks at a Girls Rock Detroit event and made a point to connect her with more opportunities.
“I don’t do that for credit,” she says. “I do that because that person is… well deserved.”
“I’m here because I love the music. Always have. That’s the reason. That’s the legacy.”