Sam Smith with his MOBO Awards

Smith officially came out of the closet in a May 2014 interview in The Fader, and much has been made of that piece. Namely, the way Smith chose to address being gay when he was writing the lyrics for In the Lonely Hour. “I’ve tried to be clever with this album,” Smith claimed, “because it’s also important to me that my music reaches everybody. I’ve made my music so that it could be about anything and everybody—whether it’s a guy, a female, or a goat—and everybody can relate to that.” Smith has reiterated this approach, as well as other questionable commentary on gay culture, throughout last year. And listening to In the Lonely Hour, an album of subdued blue-eyed soul ballads, is definitely a gender-neutral experience. It’s maybe even a neutered one, at least in terms of lyrical content.

In fact, any gayness on In the Lonely Hour is implied at best. Smith has often said in interviews that the album is written about one particular unrequited relationship he had with a guy. However, the nuances of that male-on-male interaction, or even the use of any gender specific pronouns like “he” and “him” are, by Smith’s own design, almost completely scrubbed from the record.

“I’m Not the Only One,” the album’s second single, is about being cheated on and features the chorus, “You say I’m crazy, ‘cuz you don’t think I know what you’ve done / But when you call me baby, I know I’m not the only one.” The album’s most effective song and, perhaps, its central thesis statement, “Not In That Way,” goes, “You’d say I’m sorry, believe me, I love you, but not in that way.” And “Leave Your Lover” climaxes with the sexuality-neutral hook, “Just leave your lover, leave him for me.” Choosing to write from these shrewd angles has allowed Smith to talk off record about being an out and proud man without representing that clearly on wax.

In the same Fader piece, Smith said, “[Coming out] felt great. But I had to be careful—I want my music to be sung by absolutely everyone, just like I listen to straight people every day of my life, and I’m not straight.”

Which, frankly, is bullshit.

Smith’s implication that in order for his music to “be sung by absolutely everyone,” it must omit gay signifiers, perpetuates some disturbing notions about gayness. Namely, it furthers the idea that straight people are unable to do what gay audiences have been doing all our lives—transposing a romantic dynamic that is not precisely our own onto our own lives and appreciating it all the same.

Would Smith say he can’t relate to the feelings expressed in Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are,” a song that contains the line “Girl, you’re amazing,” just because he, Smith, is gay? What about Kanye West’s “Heartless?” What about Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean?” What Smith is really saying is that unlike traditional male/female love and sexuality, gay romance still makes many people uncomfortable, and he is unwilling to confront that injustice merely by being himself in his work.

Furthermore, Smith’s intention to go broad is a tragedy not just because it undermines his vocal and melodic talents, but because it also undermines his decision to be out at all. As one of the most visible gay men in mainstream culture at the moment, Smith has certainly shirked an important responsibility in these artistic choices. Namely, he’s done so as an incredibly rare bird—a hugely popular, out gay recording artist and role model.

I’ve thought a lot lately about what it means for young gay men to lack a clear gay voice from Smith. Watching shows like HBO’s Looking and Amazon’s Transparent over the last couple of years has highlighted just how few out and proud representations there are of gay people in popular culture. It’s only later in my life that I’ve realized, through these shows, through films like Weekend and The Celluloid Closet, and through albums like the Scissor Sisters’ Night Work and like Channel Orange, how few out gay male voices I’ve had to relate to in pop culture and particularly in pop music.

Given how much of our lives are shaped by the images we consume, the effects of that lacking in my own life, as for many gay men, have been far-reaching. Imagine how many young women are figuring out who they are against the backdrop of Beyonce’s music, her lyrical assertions on womanhood, her sexuality, her views on feminism, and her specific experiences navigating a man’s world. Gay boys have no such superstar role models, no big-tent musicians who are speaking to us and to our experiences directly. And no matter how much we worship her and how many sequins are on her leotard, Beyonce will never be a gay man.