Every heterosexual guy who grew up in the mid- to late-nineties had a pin-up poster of Lila Cheney. Yours truly had two-- one in my room and another in my locker at school. Her disappearance from the music scene, as quickly as she exploded into it, created tabloid fodder. To this day, she won't talk about her decision.
"I'm happy with my life now. It's… quiet." She laughed. "I know, I know, it's kind of hard to believe considering my image back then. I haven't turned into an uber-conservative soccer mom or anything. I just found something else to devote my life to besides music."
The revelation that she was a mutant almost reached the media craziness of her disappearance almost ten years ago. Some parts of the mutant community accuse her of playing it safe by hiding her mutation until now, when Black Tuesday made hiding almost impossible. They also accuse her of not doing enough to help mutants in the country. I'm sitting in a living room three times the size of my apartment during this photoshoot. It's hard not to think the same thing.
She didn't look pleased by the topic. "Look, I wanted to be known for my music, not my genes. I became the best damn female performer not the best female mutant performer. That's a label; the minute you get labeled, you go in a tiny box and, honey, I'm claustrophobic."
Now that she's out, will she be more active in the mutant community?
Lila has no straight answer for me. "I'm going to continue
to support musicians, no matter what their background," is
all she said.