Meet Lucy (AKA Mother Lucyfer) Suarez of Minneapolis

Today we’d like to introduce you to Lucy (AKA Mother Lucyfer) Suarez.

Hi Lucy, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
Sure! So I moved to Minneapolis in 2017 with two things in mind: be closer to my best friend Terra, and chase down this dream of being a musician. And baby, I hit the ground running. I was working as a retail supervisor by day and making music by night. I even performed an acoustic set at Pride in 2018—which, yes, I still have the videos of. But then… life did what life does.

I ended up in a relationship that, quite honestly, drained the light out of me. Financially, emotionally, mentally—it was a storm I had to survive. I left retail and started working in family court for the State of Minnesota. I’m forever grateful for what I learned there (I mean, I did my own divorce, no lawyer, for free… so shout out to government resources), but I quickly realized I was not built for the 9-to-5 life. Like… you’re telling me I can’t take a vacation just because I don’t have vacation time? Be serious.

So I pivoted. My sister was bartending and making money on her own schedule, and I thought, that’s what I need to be doing. I jumped into bartending—right in the middle of the pandemic. From 2020 to 2022, it was survival mode. I wasn’t making music, I wasn’t performing—I was just trying to keep my head above water.

Then the protests happened. I got involved. I was shot in the arm with a rubber bullet, and I witnessed the police tear apart a first aid station full of peaceful protestors. That moment radicalized me. It was the spark that reignited my fire—not just artistically, but politically.

Around that time, I was at Black Hart with my friend Maggie, and we caught a burlesque show. One of the performers was Deeva Rose, a plus-size queen who lit that stage up—and Maggie and I looked at each other and said, “WE need to be doing this.” We signed up for the Rose Academy, where I met my burlesque mama, Plum Ridiculous, and suddenly, I was back on stage.

Meanwhile, I was bartending at Brass Rail, and my manager Karin and I were brainstorming ways to breathe life back into the place. Jokingly, I said, “What if we did a show called Fat Bitch Friday—an all plus-size burlesque show?” Karin looked me dead in the eye and said, “If you put it together, we’ll do it.” And a week later, she asked how it was coming along. I was like, oh… she’s serious.

Mind you, I had never produced a burlesque show. I had never even done a solo act before. But when something feels needed, I don’t wait for a résumé—I just do it. I posted on Facebook looking for a co-producer, and ChasTity Barre came through. That first show was a success. I added my burlesque mom, Plum Ridiculous, as the host, and boom—Fat Bitch Friday was born. It became a celebration of fat bodies, queer joy, and radical visibility. We added drag, comedy, singers, and spoken word—it became more than a show. It became a movement.

When Karin left Brass Rail, I left too, and Fat Bitch Friday went on hiatus. But I kept going. I created Haus of Mother Productions, produced drag brunches, sang my heart out, and eventually landed a performance on the First Avenue Stage—probably my biggest highlight to date.

Then I started working at Black Visions, a Black, queer and trans-centered nonprofit focused on liberation. I helped organize The Freedom Ball, a fundraiser for our membership that also highlighted Trans Visibility Day, that packed out LUSH Bar & Lounge with some of the most talented trans performers in the Twin Cities. That night changed me. Sixteen performances across three acts—it was beautiful, powerful, and exactly what I was meant to be doing: curating impact.

A few months later, Karin hit me up—she was coming back to Brass Rail. I told her if she ever needed me, I’d be there. So I returned, but this time with even more purpose. I wasn’t just bartending—I was booking all the shows and transforming Brass Rail into a true safe space for QTBIPOC folks and sex workers.

Under Haus of Mother, we locked in new casting policies: all shows must include trans representation and have a BIPOC producer—or, if a white person is producing, they need a BIPOC co-producer. No exceptions. Period.

Now, my life finally feels aligned. By day, I fight for Black liberation with Black Visions. By night, I uplift queer and trans artists of color through performance and production. And this? This is just the beginning. There’s so much more to come.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?

Absolutely not—and honestly, I wouldn’t trust a smooth road anyway. My journey has been anything but easy. When I moved here at 24, I was wide-eyed, hopeful, and completely unprepared for the storm that was coming. Between 2018 and 2022, it felt like everything that could go wrong did. I was in and out of abusive relationships, got married and divorced, lost my apartment, my van, and both of my dogs. I was fired from jobs, had to quit others, moved four times in four years, and barely held it together during the pandemic. There was a point where I was on food stamps, rental assistance, unemployment—and still barely surviving. I had a complete mental breakdown. My best friend almost died. And on top of it all, I was navigating life with ADHD, autism, and bipolar disorder.

It was chaos. Raw, relentless, soul-crushing chaos. But somewhere in all that pain, something started to shift.

When my best friend nearly lost their life and entered treatment, I knew I had to make a change too. In 2023, I made a promise to myself: no more drinking, no more self-destruction, no more surviving just to survive. I enrolled in school for welding—something totally unexpected but grounding. I focused on my craft, on performing and producing shows. I converted to Islam and found a deep sense of peace and purpose through my faith. I started to rebuild, brick by brick, from the inside out.

And the beautiful thing is—when I started pouring into myself and my community, life started pouring back into me. I’ve found joy in small things again. I’ve built friendships that feel like home. I’ve reconnected with my mother, my sister, and my Creator. I’m no longer chasing a version of myself—I’m living as her. The healing hasn’t been linear, and I still fall sometimes, but now I know how to get back up with grace.

The road wasn’t smooth, but it led me exactly where I needed to be. And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing. Every breakdown gave birth to a breakthrough, and every scar I carry is proof that I kept going.

Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
Picture a super-charged mixtape where every track is liberation music: that’s my professional life. I’m a musician, bartender, burlesque artist, producer, community organizer, abolitionist, and lifelong rabble-rouser rolled into one. Some folks call that “wearing too many hats”—I call it wardrobe versatility.

By daylight: I serve as the Membership Programs Organizer for Black Visions, shepherding new members into a movement that centers Black, queer, and trans futures. Recruitment isn’t just a numbers game for me; it’s a spiritual practice of kin-calling. I design workshops, facilitate political education, and build systems of mutual aid so our people don’t just join—we thrive.

By neon light: I’m behind the bar at Brass Rail, but “bartender” only scratches the surface. Think of me as the venue’s cultural architect. Through my company, Haus of Mother Productions, I book every show that graces the stage, and every lineup is intentionally stacked with QTBIPOC brilliance. We’re talking trans pole artists, fat burlesque divas, non-binary poets—folks who rarely get center spotlights anywhere else. When you step into Brass Rail under my curation, you feel the room breathe easier because everyone’s humanity made it through the door.

Signature project? Fat Bitch Friday. What started as an “LOL, what if?” has blossomed into a fat-positive, body-liberation carnival of burlesque, drag, comedy, and live music. Audiences leave giddy, tear-streaked, and changed, because witnessing dozens of joyful, unapologetic fat bodies on stage rewires your sense of what’s gorgeous and possible. I emcee and perform under the mononym MOTHER (formerly Mother Lucyfer), a name I chose because “mother” is both origin and protector—exactly how I move through creative spaces.

Creative lane-switches: I weld. Literally. Sparks fly in the shop and on stage. I’m back in the studio writing neo-soul songs, and I’ve got children’s books on deck that center Black girls with fairy wings and autistic superpowers, because representation starts young. When I say “jack-of-all-trades,” I’m not flexing variety for vanity; I’m expanding mediums so more people find themselves reflected somewhere in the work.

Crown-jewel moments:

First Avenue main stage. I walked on under that legendary purple haze, sang like my ancestors were harmonizing in the rafters, and ugly-cried glitter when the crowd roared back. That stage has hosted icons; sharing it affirmed that a fat, queer, Black woman from Detroit-via-Houston deserves iconic spaces too.

The Freedom Ball. Sixteen trans and non-binary performers, three acts, one packed house. People left healed, electrified, ready to fight and love harder. I hand-wrote every artist a thank-you letter because gratitude is a revolutionary practice, too.

What sets me apart? I lead with radical love and collective imagination. Profit never gets to be the first question; safety, joy, and possibility do. I don’t just kick open locked doors—I build new ones out of reclaimed scrap, sandalwood incense, and Beyoncé vocal stacks, then keep them propped so the whole community can roll through. I believe in pouring light into people the moment I see it flicker inside them, because our survival depends on shared brightness. My motto is simple: none of us are free until all of us are free, and I’m committed—body, voice, rhinestones, welding torch, and heart—to making that freedom feel like home.

In terms of your work and the industry, what are some of the changes you are expecting to see over the next five to ten years?
Truthfully? American culture is Black culture. It is queer culture. It is trans culture. Whether people want to admit it or not, the pulse of this country beats to the rhythm of the very communities they try to erase—and even in the face of rising fascism, we’re still here. We’re still creating. Still dancing. Still taking up space. And let me be very clear: we’re not going anywhere.

Over the next 5 to 10 years, I see drag, burlesque, and live performance becoming even more unapologetically rooted in resistance and community. What once lived on the margins is pushing toward the center—and it’s not about assimilation, it’s about transformation. People are hungry for authenticity, for joy that disrupts, for spaces where liberation feels tangible. And I know in my soul that Haus of Mother, in partnership with Brass Rail, is about to shake up the entire performance scene in the Twin Cities. We’re not just producing shows—we’re building a movement, one stage at a time.

I see more QTBIPOC creatives not just being featured—but leading, producing, owning, and deciding what the culture looks like. The days of being grateful for crumbs are over. We’re building our own tables, stages, microphones, and spotlights—and inviting others to shine with us.

Personally, I’m manifesting a community hub—my own bar, venue, or gathering place called Haus of Mother (or just Mother’s, because let’s be real, I am the mother). I see it as more than a performance space. It’ll be a sanctuary. A studio. A soup kitchen. A rehearsal room. A healing space. A home. I always say my community is like my children—every last trans babe, fat performer, neurodivergent creative, and sex worker who didn’t think there was a place for them… they’re mine. I love them like blood. And I will keep building until they know there’s nothing they can’t do.

So, where is this industry going? Forward. Loudly. Queerly. Blackly. Radically. And with a whole lot of glitter, gospel, and grind. And best believe—I’ll be leading the way, mic in one hand, cocktail shaker in the other, surrounded by my people, standing ten toes down in the revolution.

Pricing:

• Upcoming shows at Brass Rail July & August
• July 18th- Gender Euphoria/ July 19th- Tooth & Nails
• July 25th- Gender Euphoria Act II/ July 26th- House of 1000 Queers
• August 15th- MN POC PRIDE TAKEOVER/ August 16th- T for Tease Burlesque Show
• August 22nd- Fat Bitch Friday/ August 29th- TEXAS TAKE OVER/ August 30th- Patheon Show

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.facebook.com/HausofMotherProductions/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mother_lucyfer/ and https://www.instagram.com/hausofmother/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100077559791068