Ladies and Gentlefolx, Miss Grace Jones: A Remix Queer Icon

This article has been peer reviewed

Introduction

Grace Jones is an iconic figure who resonated deeply with me as a young nonbinary “tomboy” on the cusp of my queer awakening. In the pre-internet era music videos served as windows into subversive counter cultures and queer narratives, offering a glimpse into worlds that challenged societal norms including my own. 

This essay explores how the aesthetics of music video, particularly the art of remixing dominant narratives to create alternative readings, ignited my creative identity as a queer filmmaker. It examines Jones as a queer icon, focusing on how the music video for “Slave to the Rhythm” (Jean-Paul Goude, 1985) queered the form through innovative remix techniques borrowed from music and applied to the visuals. The essay demonstrates how Jones reshaped popular culture by integrating Black and queer aesthetics and narratives into the mainstream. It argues that remix itself is a “queer art form”, in that it breaks binaries of individual crafts and slices them back together to create new meaning – a practice embodied by Jones in her multifaceted career as a musician, performance artist, and model. Jones’ music videos introduced a playful, fashion-forward, and unapologetically queer aesthetic onto broadcast television, defying the expectations of censors and mainstream programmers.

In the early 1980s, as music videos adopted and experimented with new digital forms, and although remix predates the digital age, it undoubtedly emerged from the music world. Consequentially, it is no surprise then that music videos became a significant platform for the development of visual remix and Grace Jones as the trailblazing face of it. This aligns with Abigail De Kosnik’s assertion that “Black men and queer women invented digital remix culture,”¹  underscoring the significance of a marginalised black, queer female artist transitioning from performing in an intimate gay club scene to mainstream acceptance. 

“Slave to the Rhythm” is groundbreaking in its queering of the music video form through visual remixing and innovative editing. While not the first music video to create an artist piece to accompany the music, its visual narrative challenged traditional notions of gender, identity, and artistic expression serving as a precursor to modern music videos. The critical and commercial success of this video demonstrated that the medium could effectively communicate difference and remix dominant narratives into queered meanings through a playful form – a creative practice that influenced, and I would later adopt, in my own filmmaking.

Martina Navratilova

My formative queer awakening can be traced back to a pivotal moment at the Australian Open, where I was a spectator witnessing the performance of tennis player Martina Navratilova. While she may not have been a musician who created music videos,  her presence on the court and the subsequent revelation of her homosexuality served as a catalyst for my exploration of queer identity. However, her more recent anti-trans commentary² leaves much to be desired.

During my adolescent years in the early to mid 1980s, I attended an all-girls school in the inner-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, a predominantly white, middle-class environment. It was during this period, while skipping school with a group of female friends, that we surreptitiously gained entry to the Kooyong Tennis Club to observe Martina Navratilova’s match. As we reclined into the wooden benches, one friend casually draped her arm around my shoulders, prompting another to exclaim, “OMG! Don’t put your arm around her watching Martina, people will think you’re lesbians!” This was the first time I had encountered the term “lesbian,” and while I did not fully comprehend its implications, I recognised the negative connotation it carried.

Despite the initial discomfort and subsequent laughter among my peers, I felt an inexplicable resonance as I watched Navratilova’s commanding presence on the court. Her powerful serve-and-volley style often likened to “playing like a man’s game”. Not long after this experience, my classmates made me a puff paint T-shirt bearing Martina Navratilova’s, complete with love heart. I wore it with pride, and it was instrumental in me meeting my tennis icon. In retrospect, I suspect she may have recognised my own burgeoning sexuality before I did.

Angie Black, Martina Navratilova & bodyguard, Australian Tennis Open, Kooyong, Australia 1984. Photo by Jodie Benallack.

This experience, coupled with the burgeoning popularity of music videos on platforms like MTV, Rage, and Video Hits, exposed me to a world of queer, gender-bending, and unconventional icons who defied societal norms.

Among these formative figures was Grace Jones, a performer who transcended the boundaries of art, fashion, and music. Much like Navratilova’s impact on the sporting world, Jones redefined notions of beauty and strength, remixing and challenging traditional perceptions through her unapologetic self-expression. Her ability to subvert mainstream expectations and embrace her authentic identity resonated deeply with me as a young person navigating the complexities of gender and sexuality.

Grace Jones

I can’t recall where or when I first saw the music video for “Slave to the Rhythm” (1985), but I remember the impact of it.  I was blown away by the sheer audacity of it and the artist in the centre of it. I found myself asking who is Grace Jones? And why had I never seen her before? 

Music journalist Barry Walters aptly describes Jones as “one of the most transgressive stars of the 1980s”, highlighting her role in giving “voice to the oppressed while offering a bold example of what it means to be free”.³ Walters credits Jones with bridging the gap between radical fashion and the music scene, noting that her “singular appearance and meticulously crafted presentation” made her ideally suited for the emerging music video medium, especially during its early experimental phase.⁴

Nathalie Weidhase further expands on Jones’ cultural significance, emphasising her ability to queer “a myriad of identity categories in her performances, including race, gender, sexuality and national identity”.⁵ Weidhase highlights how Jones has invoked the “term ‘queer’ in both her status as a disco icon and as an identificatory figure for marginalised audiences, Jones has a long and pronounced history of unsettling and disrupting identity configurations such as gender, sexuality and race”.⁶

Born in the late ‘40s Jones grew up in a repressive Pentecostal family in Jamaica before moving to New York at the age of 12. Her career began as a model in the US in the late ‘60s but didn’t take off until she went to Paris in the early ‘70s. According to Walters, Jones didn’t quite fit into what the US was looking for, she wasn’t quite American enough.⁷ In the late ‘70s Jones signed with Island records and released her first album called Portfolio in 1977. 

In her memoir, Jones says she was first introduced to gay culture through her brother Chris, with whom she is very close.⁸ Jones says that although they weren’t twins, they often used to pass as twins. She says “I was born a little more masculine, a girl with some of the boyness Chris lacked. And he had some of the girliness I didn’t have.”.⁹ It’s no surprise then that Grace Jones would make one of her first appearances at a members only gay disco New York’s 12 West. It was at this performance in 1977 that she sang her hit single, “I Need a Man” in her gender defying tough and fearless way just like a man, to a bunch of men, who also understood the need for “a man”. Walters discusses the significance of this moment in time: 

“she was a woman who was not just singing to them, but also for them, as them. She was as queer as a relatively straight person could get. Her image celebrated blackness and subverted gender norms; she presented something we had never seen before in pop performance—a woman who was lithe, sexy, and hyperfeminine while also exuding a ribald, butch swagger”.¹⁰

In the early ‘80s the album Nightclubbing was released through Island Records and, on this album, the single track “Walking in the Rain” (1981). This track, originally written and released by Australian band Flash and the Pan in 1976, is covered by a detached sophisticated cool Jones. Her performance of Vanda and Young’s lyrics “Summing up the people, checking out the race. Doing what I’m doing, feeling out of place. Feeling like a woman, looking like a man. Sounding like a ‘no-no’, making what I can” captures the mood of a New Wave generation.  As Australian writer Dmetri Kakmi recalls, Jones’ cover “captured the restlessness, alienation and pent-up emotions of a stifled adolescence”.¹¹ These lyrics too spoke volumes to me as a young, queer, baby butch when I first came out. They allowed me to realise that if binaries don’t matter, then sexuality doesn’t matter either. It was an exciting revelation for me.

In this music video Grace Jones is captured performing live on stage, more performance artist than singer. A spot-lit Jones wears a dark blue Armani suit and sunglasses as she cuts a cool, sophisticated figure silhouetted in the darkness. Her hair is immaculately groomed in a razor-sharp flat top, and she presents as both male and female. As Dmetri Kakmi reflects “She looked more like a cyborg from the future than someone you’d encounter on a normal street”.¹² It’s hard to pinpoint at what stage Grace Jones became a queer icon but the fact that she represents and typifies “otherness” in all her forms exemplifies what the queer community experience. Carolyn Anderson examines the contemporary icon-making process that allowed Jones to break the barriers of stereotyping which paved the way for her to become a postmodern transnational “self-made art object”, a “phenomenal work of both art and culture” (1993). Anderson explains:

“She eludes and confuses all definitions of male/female, past/future, real/simulated and familiar/foreign. She transgresses her gender and racial identity, and sometimes even escapes categorization as rational or insane, human or animal”.¹³

The impact of Jones on me as a queer youth, and more broadly on popular culture, particularly through her music videos, cannot be overstated. Her ability to simultaneously captivate and confound audiences speaks to her unique artistic vision and her willingness to push boundaries. The question “Who is Grace Jones?” becomes not just an inquiry about an individual artist, but an exploration of the possibilities for self-expression and identity in popular culture. While Navratilova was my first introduction to female homosexuality, Jones introduced me to gay abundance in dance and all things queer. Her 1985 video for “Slave to the Rhythm” serves as a prime example of her audacious artistry, which left an indelible mark on me as it challenged conventional notions of identity, performance and narrative.

Slave to the Rhythm

The 1985 release of “Slave to the Rhythm” as both a single track, and an album comprising seven extended remixes and reworkings of the song, represents a significant exploration of Remix and its subversive potential in challenging dominant narratives and asserting marginalised identities. The very title of the album’s single, “Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones”, playfully subverts gender norms, setting the tone for the remixed narratives that follow.

The song was originally written by influential players in the UK music scene, a group of white male musicians – Bruce Woolley, Simon Darlow, Stephen Lipson, and Trevor Horn – for the British band Frankie Goes to Hollywood. The decision to offer the track to Grace Jones, a black female artist, raises intriguing questions about the motivations behind this choice. Was it purely a matter of shared record label affiliation, or did someone recognise the powerful and nuanced interpretation Jones could bring to the lyrics?

As Walters suggests, “a larger-than-life black woman singing both metaphorically and directly about slavery was profound; the lyrics coaxed infinite interpretations”.¹⁴ The concept of being a “slave to the rhythm” takes on multifaceted meanings when performed by Jones, encompassing the music industry, fashion, media, consumerism, and the broader societal gaze imposed upon her as a black woman.

The recording process itself was a remarkable exercise in Remix, with Jones entering the studio weekly for eight weeks to record a new version of the song, each adhering to predefined thematic and lyrical boundaries while gradually diverging in sonic and conceptual directions. This ambitious approach, costing an exorbitant $385,000, challenged the notion of a singular, definitive version of the song, instead embracing the fluidity and malleability of the remix form. The resulting album, a 43-minute exploration of remixing a single track in various ways, resonated profoundly with me as a queer person, reflecting the multitude of perspectives and interpretations that exist in the world, and the potential of Remix as a technique to critique mainstream culture.

Remix Theory as cultural glue and queer potential

Eduardo Navas defines Remix as “a cultural variable that is able to move and inform art, music, and media in ways not always obvious as discussed in remix culture”.¹⁵ He posits that Remix, at “the beginning of the twenty-first century, informs the development of material reality dependent on the constant recyclability of material with the implementation of mechanical reproduction”.¹⁶ Navas traces the roots of Remix to “the musical explorations of DJ producers; in particular, hip-hop DJs who improved on the skills of disco DJs, starting in the late ‘60s”.¹⁷ He argues that Remix emerged from “a long process of experimentation with diverse forms of mechanical recording and reproduction that reached a meta-level in sampling”.¹⁸ Navas suggests that the “principles found in the act of remixing in music become conceptual strategies used in different forms in art, media, and culture”.¹⁹ The foundations of which he argues “starting in the nineteenth century, has a solid foundation in capturing sound, complemented with a strong link to capturing images in photography and film”.²⁰ Navas sees Remix as a binder or cultural glue.²¹

De Kosnik emphasises the importance of recognising “Black men and queer women as the pioneers of remix”.²²  This acknowledgement, she argues, is crucial for understanding the significant role of race and gender in the challenges remix faced during its emergence.

Mel Stanfill notes that remixes are often undervalued in “the study of music as a social phenomenon”.²³  However, through his analysis of Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road”, Stanfill demonstrates how remix can uniquely reveal cultural fault lines and push popular music in “new, hybrid, queer directions”.²⁴ Stanfill argues that remixes resist the normative operation of genres as straight lines of descent from musical forebears, instead engaging in a queer kind of reproduction, a joyful excess of proliferating versions”.²⁵

This theoretical framework underscores the potential of remix as a tool for cultural commentary, transformation, and queer expression. It highlights how remix can challenge traditional categorisations, blend identities, and create spaces for marginalised voices, making it a powerful medium for exploring and reshaping societal attitudes towards identity, sexuality, and cultural expression.

Collaborative authorship

The mid-1980s saw the arrival of music videos, offering viewers unprecedented access to musicians and bands we had only seen in print media, performing live, or performing live on television. The “Slave to the Rhythm” music video exemplified this new format, remixed all the queerest moments of Grace Jones’ earlier on-screen work.  This mash up of previous video clips, collages and commercials created a new work and fresh meaning. This video serves as a potent exploration of how remixing existing visuals can challenge dominant narratives and subvert societal stereotypes. It was produced by Jones’ collaborator and partner at the time, Jean-Paul Goude, a Parisian graphic designer and multimedia artist known for their previous work on Jones’ long form music video “One Man Show” (1982).  

What set “Slave to the Rhythm” apart was how it defied conventional representations. As Walters notes, the video combined “still photography, concert footage, and video clips to distil the pair’s simultaneously sensational and intimate collaborations into a heated, unbroken montage”.²⁶ Jones wore geometric designs and Pop-Art colours with Goude’s art direction bringing her imposing, alien-like presence to the fore. The collage of clips created a compelling anti-narrative, that moves away from more typical band performances or lip-syncing. Instead of singing directly to an audience, Jones appears to be at play resulting in a bold, mesmerising and confronting performance. The filmmaking was playful, experimental and deftly executed. Notably, the video was produced before the era of digital effects, relying on manual labour and demonstrating its artistry through craft. 

The opening sequence immediately establishes the video’s engagement with Remix theory by explicitly revealing the process of slicing and reassembling existing imagery to form new meanings. The use of a voiceover from actor Ian McShane reciting text from Goude’s biography, Jungle Fever,²⁷ further situates the work within the context of remixing and recontextualizing existing narratives. The montage sequence deconstructs the creation of the album cover artwork, showcasing the manual process of cutting and duplicating fragments of Jones’ image to create a striking, larger-than-life representation. This meta-commentary on the remix process not only exposes the techniques of image manipulation but also challenges the notion of a fixed, singular representation of Jones.

As Anderson observes, the imagery “refers constantly to transgression and confusion of race and gender”.²⁸  The video employs a series of “visual incongruities” to facilitate an ironic commentary on contemporary stereotypes and the notion of enslavement.²⁹ These incongruities include the juxtaposition of racial identities, with Black individuals appearing in whiteface and vice versa. In the following year, Jones appeared on the cover of England’s The Face magazine painted in whiteface. Anderson  further notes that the video culminates in a poignant sequence where Jones “shoots” herself in the head and falls into her enormous skirt, “writhing as in torture”.³⁰ Anderson suggests that Jones was aware that she has herself become a victim of the very rhythm she was born into, enslaved by the subjugating forces that define her identity and existence.³¹

Significantly, the visuals incorporated into the “Slave to the Rhythm” music video were not produced specifically for the song itself. Instead, they were repurposed from previously existing material, such as commercials and other projects, and remixed to create a new, subversive narrative. This remixing process allowed for the inclusion of previously unseen footage, such as the iconic Citroën CX advertisement³² where Jones’ head emerges from the desert sand, swallowing and submerging the vehicle.

Jones, Grace. 1985. “Grace Jones – Citroën CX II TV Advertisement (1985) HD”, Best of 4K by Magnetic Images, YouTube.

While the motivations behind revisiting and remixing this existing material remain ambiguous – whether driven by financial or creative considerations – the resulting work serves as a powerful commentary on the subversive potential of remix culture. By recontextualizing and juxtaposing disparate visuals, the music video challenges dominant narratives, destabilizes societal stereotypes, and asserts marginalized identities through a remixed, transgressive aesthetic.

Through the process of revisiting previous material and remixing it both visually and aurally, Jones and her collaborators effectively queered the music video form, subverting traditional notions of authorship, ownership, and fixity. The remixes became a means of reclaiming agency and control over the narrative, allowing Jones to wield the concept of “slavery” in a way that simultaneously acknowledged the “joy of musical surrender” and the “discomfort of a life spent filtered through the gaze of others”.³³ In this context, remix emerges as a powerful tool for marginalized voices to challenge dominant narratives and assert their own identities and experiences. Jones’ embrace of remix culture not only redefined the boundaries of the music video form but also served as a potent expression of her intersectional identity as a queer, black woman in the music industry.

While the track became one of Jones’ best performing tracks, both critically and commercially, Walters says that in the US “MTV virtually ignored the track’s Goude-directed video; even when framed by Horn’s familiar transatlantic brilliance, Jones was, for MTV, still too black, too strong”.³⁴ This resistance, however, underscores the subversive nature of her work and its challenge to mainstream expectations.

It is not long after this collaboration that Jones and Goude go in separate directions. Perhaps this is an acknowledgement of the problematic aspects of Goude’s fetishisation of Black women’s bodies, as revealed in his book Jungle Fever. Bennett Brazelton discussed his take on her role in this collaboration, “Jones represents a world that is distinctly queer and Black. There is no room for Goude in the world that she creates”.³⁵  Jones continues to collaborate, notably with visual artists and queer icons Andy Warhol and Keith Haring but now she has established herself and has more control of the musical and stylistic direction of her work, a world where she asserts her agency and identity. Brazelton reminds us however, that despite her collaborations with predominately white men her world is “unwilling to engage in the redemption of the American, white, capitalist, and cisheterosexual political project”.³⁶ It is perhaps this assertion that sees her among the most revered and feared in the canon of Black Divas.

Impact of a queer icon

In her analysis of Grace Jones’ impact, Weidhase observes that Jones challenges traditional notions of “gender, race and sexuality”,³⁷ effectively queering these identities. Weidhase suggests that “Jones’ image simultaneously embodies and distorts racist and sexist stereotypes”, creating what Francesca Royster describes as “challenges of readability”.³⁸ This complexity, Weidhase argues, forms a significant part of Jones’ appeal to minority and marginalised audiences, who may see themselves as similarly defying normative identity categories. 

“Slave to the Rhythm” was the music video that ignited my creative identity as a queer filmmaker, providing a rare glimpse into a world that defied societal norms and celebrated difference. The bold, mesmerising, and confrontational performance, coupled with the playful, experimental, and deftly executed filmmaking, queered the form through remix, cutting up images of Jones and reassembling them to create new meanings.

Coming out in an era with limited queer visibility, encountering Grace Jones’ androgynous and unapologetic presence in fashion and music was groundbreaking.  It’s important to remember that during this period, queer representation was scarce, particularly in youth-accessible media. Music videos like “Slave to the Rhythm” occupied a unique position, being broadcast at times when young audiences could view them. This accessibility made Grace Jones’ work crucial in shaping young queer identities including my own. Her bold, boundary-pushing performances often provided the first glimpse of queer representation for many young people, including myself. These early exposures were instrumental in forming and affirming queer identities, offering a beacon of possibility and self-expression in an otherwise restricted cultural landscape. It is through these music videos that I became inspired to create queer narratives for mainstream audiences, ultimately leading to my career in commercial directing and filmmaking.

As previously highlighted, “Slave to the Rhythm” was innovative in its use of remix techniques borrowed from music and applied to visuals. It queered the music video form and challenged dominant narratives. As a commercially successful artist, Jones didn’t just challenge the status quo, she created a new mainstream inclusive of queer Black people. Jones bridged the gap between the underground club culture and mainstream television, reaching queer youth, like me, and paving the way for future gender-bending and unconventional artists.

Jones’ work, particularly in the visual medium of music videos, provided a rare and powerful representation of queerness and non-conformity. In an era when such visibility was limited, especially for younger audiences, Jones’ videos like “Slave to the Rhythm” offered a glimpse into a world of radical self-expression and identity fluidity. This exposure was particularly significant for those growing up in environments where access to queer culture was restricted or non-existent.

As a queer feminist filmmaker, I found Grace Jones’ unapologetic self-expression and defiance of societal norms to be a catalyst for my own creative identity. In the burgeoning medium of music videos, she provided a rare and inspiring representation of marginalised identities, igniting my artistic vision and sense of self.

Conclusion

Grace Jones’ breakthrough into the mainstream with “Slave to the Rhythm” was remarkable, as she unapologetically presented a non-binary and outwardly queer persona. Her playful approach to the music video format and her self-expression, stemming from a high-fashion background, demonstrated a fearless disregard for societal perceptions. Jones’ ability to have fun and embrace her authentic self was profoundly inspiring for me as a young queer person.

The “Slave to the Rhythm” music video reminds us not to conform to mainstream expectations or seek acceptance within heteronormative structures. Instead, it encourages us to embrace our unique identities, find our own artistic voices, and create on our own terms. While we may be “slaves to the grind”, Jones challenges us to make that grind enjoyable and fulfilling.

For me, this music video was a catalyst, sparking my interest in filmmaking as a means of self-expression and pushing against societal binaries of gender and sexuality. The video’s high art, Euro-centric aesthetics questioned conventional perceptions of race, gender, and sexuality, resonating deeply with my queer identity. Jones’ gender-defying persona and refusal to conform to societal norms set a powerful example, allowing me to imagine a world where individual differences are celebrated and embraced.

As a queer icon who transcends the boundaries of femininity, masculinity, and hyperfemininity, Grace Jones remains an enigmatic figure, “dazzling, inspiring, and ever so slightly out of reach”.³⁹ As the contributors to this review of “Slave to the Rhythm” suggest, her career path inspires a refusal of societal norms and a celebration of individuality.

I’m imagining a future creative project that could explore the queer potential of remix to examine the intersections of queer icons from different artistic domains. Such a project might allow Navratilova to redeem her anti-trans commentary by connecting her and Jones, potentially reclaiming her queer icon status through a shared legacy of gender defiance. A remix mash-up featuring Jones and Navratilova, resulting in a unique and boundary-pushing collaboration.

Jones and Navratilova stand on stage. Ageing queer icons, or queer divas as Weidhase suggests in the case of Jones, both dressed identically in nude illusion suits and dark sunglasses in a celebration of age. Jones scoops up Navratilova, rolls her into a ball and serves her across the heads of a mass of screaming, writhing, dancing, sweating, adoring nightclub fans. Jones’ head appears from within the fans as it does in the Citroën ad in the “Slave to the Rhythm” video. Jones opens her mechanical mouth and swallows Navratilova whole before descending back into the writhing fan mass. Jones’ voice sings/speaks “OUT” and two dancing Jones’s and Navratilova’s spin wildly back and forth across the stage in bright coloured, oversized polka dot dresses before collapsing together, hands clasped, onto the stage floor and disappearing into the fabric. Multicoloured polka dots rain down from above and onto the stage, covering them and swallowing them both. 

This project could potentially be realised without direct collaboration with Jones and Navratilova in front of a camera. By repurposing existing footage and utilising AI technology, I could create a remix without the need for in person performances or direct interaction. This approach reflects the current state of remix culture, where new creations can emerge from pre-existing material sourced from the internet. Regardless of whether I’ll ever have the opportunity to meet or work directly with Jones, her impact as a trailblazer on my creative journey will forever resonate. Grace Jones has undeniably paved the way for future generations of artists and marginalised individuals to explore and express their identities more freely. Her legacy continues to inspire and influence, reminding us of the power of art to challenge, transform, and liberate.

References

• Anderson, Carolyn. G. 1993. En route to transnational postmodernism: Grace Jones, Josephine Baker and the African diaspora. Social Science Information, 32(3), 491-512. https://doi.org/10.1177/053901893032003004 
• Brazelton, Bennett. 2021. “Annotated Bibliography – Grace Jones, Slave to the Rhythm,” Third Stone: Vol. 2, Article 1. https://repository.rit.edu/thirdstone/vol2/iss1/1
• Classic Albums Sunday. 2019. The Story of Grace Jones “Slave To The Rhythm” https://classicalbumsundays.com/the-story-of-grace-jones-slave-to-the-rhythm/ Accessed 2 July 2025.
• De Kosnik, Abigail. “Why It Matters That Black Men and Queer Women Invented Digital Remix Culture.” Journal of Cinema and Media Studies 59, no. 1 (2019): 156–63. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26844140.
• Goude, Jean-Paul. 1981.  Jungle Fever. Ed. Harold Hayes. New York, N.Y. : Xavier Moreau
• Jones, Grace. 1985. “Slave to the Rhythm” directed by Jean-Paul Goude, October 1985 (posted on December 23, 2013), music video, YouTube, 4:48. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0XLzIswI2s
• Jones, Grace. 1985. “Grace Jones – Citroën CX II TV Advertisement (1985) HD”, Best of 4K by Magnetic Images, YouTude, 00.43. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrI6vqaKSmM 
• Jones, Grace. 2015. “The Grace Jones Theory of Gender and Sexuality”. Slate Magazine
• Jones, Grace. Morley, Paul. 2015. I’ll Never Write My Memoirs, Simon & Schuster UK.
• Nightclubbing (LP record). Grace Jones. Island Records. 1981. ILPS 9624.
• Kakmi, Dmetri. 2014. “‘Walking In The Rain’ by Grace Jones”. Stereo Stories. https://www.stereostories.com/walking-in-the-rain-by-grace-jones/ Accessed 5 July 2025.
• Manovich, Lev. 2002. “Models of Authorship in New Media,” SWITCH: Vol. 17 : No. 3 , Article 3. https://scholarworks.sjsu.edu/switch/vol17/iss3/3
• Navas, Eduardo. Remix Theory: The Aesthetics of Sampling. Springer, 2012. https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=67312675-2747-3e33-a637-abc9211d4ef2
• Perraudin, Frances. 2019. ‘Martina Navratilova criticised over ‘cheating’ trans women comments’, The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2019/feb/17/martina-navratilova-criticised-over-cheating-trans-women-comments Accessed 29 September 2025.
• Salewicz, Chris. 2020. “Confessional of an Art Groupie”, The Face, https://theface.com/archive/grace-jones-the-face-archive-1980-interview Accessed 2 July 2025.
• Stanfill, Mel. 2021.“Can’t Nobody Tell Me Nothin’: ‘Old Town Road’, Resisting Musical Norms, and Queer Remix Reproduction.” Popular Music 40, no. 3–4 (2021): 347–63. https://doi.org/10.1017/S026114302100057X. 
• Walters, Barry. 2015. ‘As Much As I Can, As Black As I Am: The Queer History of Grace Jones’, Pitchfork. https://pitchfork.com/features/from-the-pitchfork-review/9708-as-much-as-i-can-as-black-as-i-am-the-queer-history-of-grace-jones/
• Weidhase, Nathalie. 2015. Ageing Grace/Fully: Grace Jones and the Queering of the Diva Myth. In: Women, Celebrity and Cultures of Ageing. Palgrave Macmillan, London. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137495129_7

Endnotes