“When I sing, the only thing that’s worth anything is, Get me out of this place I’m in, and transport me somewhere else,” says Cyndi Lauper. “That’s the best part of singing: If you’re lucky enough, you can touch the sky, with your tippy-toes in the water down here—and that’s electric. It doesn’t always happen, but I always try.”

The singer, songwriter, and performer will premiere her new feature documentary, Let the Canary Sing, at New York City’s Beacon Theatre on Wednesday, an event that will also see her perform some of the signature hits from her 12-album catalog. Here, the Grammy, Emmy, and Tony winner talks about her rise to fame, longevity, her work on Broadway’s Kinky Boots and the in-development Working Girl, her personal life, and her advocacy for LGBTQ+ and women’s rights.                    

Vanity Fair: I remember decades ago you told me that after you became successful, people in your Queens neighborhood would say to your mother, “How are you?” And she’d say, “The same as I was when you didn’t talk to me.”

Cyndi Lauper: My mother was always a renegade. She got divorced when I was five, and that was a big thing then. When [my parents] fought, it was like World War II; he called her Mussolini and she called him a Nazi. Once, when I was four and a half, a dish or something broke [during a fight] and a shard went into my head. They both freaked out, I went to the hospital, and after that, they decided to split. In those days, the 1950s, everybody was a little closed-minded.

In so many ways, we seem to be going back to that time.

Yes, being raised with braces on our brains. But my mother wasn’t like that. She wanted something more—she didn’t want to be relegated to doing housework. That’s the beginning of Working Girl. My father was a curious fellow, and he took me to museums, Shakespeare [plays]. He liked literature, architecture, language—all kinds of things. But also, he was from that period when they thought [a woman] had to serve the bacon.

Did he instill that curiosity in you?

I didn’t know what the fuck I was interested in. I loved music. I used to listen to my mother’s records and imitate them—not just Broadway shows, but classical, opera. She liked Eydie Gormé—“There’s an awful lot of coffee in Brazil.” I kind of went with that for a while. And Barbra Streisand. I had her down. 

What gave you the drive to actually do something with that, as opposed to just performing in the house?

Because I failed at everything else. I was kind of dopey. I never was the brainiac. I just wanted fame. I performed at school, in the park. I loved to imitate people because it was another world. If I was listening to Camelot, you’d have to go from Richard Burton to Julie Andrews, but it was okay with me. I liked to switch it up. Male, female, it didn’t matter, and that’s how I played. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was dressing my dolls up—with toilet paper, tissue, wrapping matter, it didn’t matter.

You had been in a few cover bands and some others, and then, 40 years ago, your major-label debut, She’s So Unusual, came out at the height of the MTV explosion, which put an emphasis on image and visuals. You had wild-colored hair,  four catchy pop singles from that album, and massive fame; how did it change your life?

I still lived like I was poor But I was able to take care of my family. Family is so important to me. I was very fortunate to be able to take care of my mom. Once I became successful, that was a renegade thing. That hair? That makeup? That was war paint. Like, Look the fuck out and stand back, because when I sing I’m gonna blow your face right off. My first album was odd; it wasn’t what was on the radio. We had letters from radio programmers saying my voice was way too high—I was singing in F-sharp—and they said it was repetitive. 

Women always had a problem with radio airplay then, but at that time, you were called “kooky” and “quirky,” and MTV really pitted women, notably you and Madonna, against each other.

I felt bad about that. I even contacted Madonna through Seymour Stein because when they came out with those nude photos of her from some old photo shoot, [I felt bad for her]. I sent her a message saying, “Just hang in there.”

Wasn’t it brave of you in your early days to cover Marvin Gaye and Prince songs and open yourself up to those comparisons?

For a while, I could do whatever I wanted. But after that debut album, there was a lot of pressure on me. I didn’t want to do everything people wanted me to do. I wanted a little freedom. The producer was running the ship; he was the captain. But I wanted to be the captain, and that was a problem. 

After that initial success, you made 11 other albums, but you had new people at your label who you felt weren’t promoting your albums properly. How did you deal with that?

I was trying to control my music and all the people who supported me. I did some classics. I recorded “At Last,” and Etta James wanted me to produce her album. I didn’t do it, and it was a big mistake. But I was being yelled at all the time; “What are you doing? You’re trying to mess up your career!”

When you look back at some of the down times, then fast-forward to the fact that you’re the only woman who won a Tony for writing words and music on your own for a Broadway show (Kinky Boots), do you trust your own instincts?

Now? Yes.

You’re tackling Broadway again with Working Girl, and those musicals are collaborative efforts, as opposed to recording your own songs in a studio. Was the making of Kinky Boots a good experience?

It was fine. Harvey [Fierstein] protected me. He was my mentor, and whatever he wanted me to do I tried to do because I was proud to be with him. I knew by the time we got there it was pretty good.

Have you ever had a drug or drinking problem?

When I was 16, but it wasn’t a problem. I had a hard childhood and an abusive situation going on in the house. But when I step onstage, when I’m singing and the musicians are with me, you’re the lightning rod, and everybody comes with me and you’re in ecstasy. Without the pill. And then, when you go back to the hotel, you do your vocal exercises and steam, hot bath, and go to bed. 

Did you always?

Yes, always. Tried to. I’m never going to do anything that’s going to wreck my voice. You have to remember, by the time She’s So Unusual came out, I was 30. I didn’t tell anybody because when they asked me how old I was, I asked them if they thought I was a car and they needed to look under the hood to make sure I was still running good. I said, Ageism? Really? When all the people I had worked with [early in my career] were gone, I got my nose rubbed in the dirt in 2000. One record label guy, who was only one year younger than me, said, “I’m sorry, I don’t sign anyone over 40.” I still was a fucking renegade, and I meant every word and I was coming for everybody. I was going to make a change. I’m going to wear a corset. I want to look sexy, but my underwear is going to be my outerwear. And it’s gonna be for me.

Many female musicians have told me that half-naked onstage costumes are empowering, while others feel it objectifies and sexualizes women. 

Listen, when you’re young and you feel sexual, you should be able to do that. You should feel empowered. Do you want to take your clothes off in front of people? Well, if you’re young and beautiful, maybe you do.

How do you feel about the censorship that’s going on in culture today–changing books, removing books from libraries and schools, “cancel culture”?

I think it’s bullshit. You’re going to let fearmongers who want everybody to have braces on your brains and make everybody march the same way…? There are other countries for that. Not America. Although we have had a lot of that throughout history...the 1930s, ’40s, ’50s…

But isn’t it worse? For instance, overturning Roe v. Wade.

Little girls don’t understand, but they will.

Did you ever have an abortion? 

I did. And the guy I got pregnant with didn’t even want the kid. You think I wanted to bring somebody into the world feeling they’re not wanted? I never felt I was wanted. I was 23 and I got so sick…and the doctor was such a dick, so awful, telling me, “You should have kept your legs crossed.” I said, “Well, are you teaching young men that they should be wearing some sort of contraception?”

You’ve said “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”—with the lyrics “I want to be the one who walks in the sun”—was a feminist song. “True Colors” has become an anthem for the LGBTQ+ community. Those songs were pop hits, recorded 40 years ago; was that infiltration?

Of course. I’m always infiltrating. With “True Colors,” my friend had just died [of AIDS]; I knew what that was about. It was a healing song.

You’re in all these ads for Cosentyx; did you really have bad psoriasis?

I was covered from head to toe. It’s stress-related, but sometimes it triggers other illnesses; I had endometriosis, I had throat operations…but the psoriasis was real bad. It spread and I couldn’t get out of bed. And that medicine worked. I’m still on it.

How long have you been married, and how hard was it for you to balance your career with marriage and a child?

I got married on November 24, 1991, and yes, it was pretty hard. But my husband, [actor David Thornton], became the strong arm of the family. He was very much there. He’s so wildly talented; he understands stories so well. I’m going to do some music for something he’s working on. But I had a nanny. My son (Declyn, now 25)  went to good schools, but I missed out on a few things when I was on the road. People said I was so career-driven, but once the kid came, I looked at how I can support everything: make a record, tour—and my husband would say, “Go to Europe, I’ve got him.” I took my son on tour sometimes, but he needed his own space. And he makes music now. It’s more underground. He’s on SoundCloud and he’s a terrific artist.

Why did you want to do a documentary now?

They [my agents] told me it would be a good thing to do, and the director, Alison Ellwood,  directed the Go-Go’s documentary and the Laurel Canyon one that I loved—I thought it was wonderful. We started working on it a year ago. There are a lot of interviews in it, but I stepped away from it a bit. The documentary is my life and her work; it’s her interpretation of my work. There were certain things I didn’t want to talk about, my husband and my son, because that was really private. The documentary is about my career, and let the canary sing. 

Why that title?

I was in bankruptcy court [decades ago, prior to mainstream success], and at the end of the trial, the judge took the gavel and said, “Let the canary sing.” That’s when my life started again. I had already been through a lot—a throat operation, bankruptcy…It’s very clear that this documentary is about somebody who constantly tried to contribute and somebody giving a shit. Because that’s what I did. I tried to contribute to the world. 

Why did you want your mother in the video for “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”?

I wanted to bring women forward and wanted to bring them together. I wanted the generation of my mom and me to be close. That’s why I wanted her in the video. And now, when they took Roe v. Wade away, I said, “Okay, that’s it. Let’s roll up our sleeves. We’re fucking in now. Now we go at it the same way we did for LGBTQ rights.” We have to get together and go in one direction for—what is it? I can’t hear you—oh, fairness. Now we have Girls Just Want to Have Fundamental Rights, and a website (cyndilauper.com/fund) where people can donate and we sell T-shirts; we give the money to different organizations that help women travel out of dark states. We say “dark states” because of the blanket they’ve put over everybody that you can’t have an abortion, trying to get rid of birth control and dumb down people about women’s rights. “Guns are fine, but birth control—hey, whoa!—call 911, let’s get those people!”

So from “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” to Girls Just Want to Have Fundamental Rights—same mission?

Same mission, just a little louder.