Marcos Aycox is an acclaimed musician who has performed at Carnegie Hall, shared the stage with Broadway stars such as Tituss Burgess, Jonathan Groff and Nina West, and collaborated with art legends such as Sir James Galway, Deborah Voigt and Natasha Tretheway. But life hasn’t always been easy for Aycox, known professionally as the “tatted violinist.” In fact, his story is one of remarkable perseverance through often brutal circumstances. But music has always been a guiding light, he says.
Icox grew up in São Paulo, where he says life was simply “survival.” However, discovering a love for music, especially the violin, gave him the strength and determination to keep going. Music became his “sanctuary.”
“I was born and raised in a city called Bauru. [around] The population of São Paulo state is 300,000. “Life there was all about survival. It was loud, it was fast, it was full of contrasts. It was beauty and struggle,” says Aycox.
He explains that the “deeply religious environment” in which he grew up further complicated the situation. “When I was a kid, I didn’t have the freedom to discover myself. … So I learned how to shrink back, how to edit myself, how to exist in a way that didn’t get me into trouble.”
In addition to the challenges she faced at home, Aycox said the streets of Bauru were often even more difficult. And violent.
“I was being bullied,” he recalls. “I wasn’t just made fun of, I was bullied in a way that left a mark. Before I knew what that meant, I was called gay. I was beaten, my teeth were pulled out. It was physical, it was emotional. It was constant.”
Once again, music became his savior. Aycox continued, and “started to progress,” and in his early teens began teaching music in the city’s symphony orchestra. From then on, “things started to change,” he says.
“Music was the only place for me where I didn’t have to lie,” Aycox says. “It became my sanctuary. It was the only place where I felt free from everything else. I actually started on the piano and wanted to play the flute, but somehow I ended up on the violin. And that instrument… The violin felt like a voice I wasn’t allowed to make loud. It cried for me. It spoke the truth when I couldn’t… live it first.”

At the age of 17, Aycox decided to escape his difficult life in Brazil and immigrate to the United States, following in the footsteps of his cousin who had already immigrated on a music scholarship. A year later, he enrolled at the University of Southern Mississippi on a full scholarship.
“I landed in America at 18 and thought there was a great opportunity, but I soon realized I was still broke,” he says. “I’m still responsible for paying bills I don’t understand, in a place I’ve never been, in a language I don’t speak.”
It was in Mississippi that he met his current husband, Michael Aycox, who was also the first openly gay man to run for Congress in the state. Aycox says that while his own inner strength and love for music have brought him this far, it was Michael who ultimately brought him the love, support and humanity that was largely missing in his life.
“When I met Michael, I had nothing,” he says. “I was homeless. I was living in my car. I hadn’t had a proper meal in days. I was showering at friends’ houses to keep myself going. That’s why people talk about love as if it’s some sophisticated, perfect thing…that’s not my story.”

“We met in the midst of survival,” Aycox continues. “And the crazy thing is, he didn’t see me as broken. That’s what he thought.” myself. It’s not the situation. It’s not a struggle. It’s not instability. myself. And I’ll never forget what he said to me after our first date. “Tonight, you’re going home with me.” And once you get there, you don’t have to leave. No matter what happens between us, whether we’re in a relationship or not, you have a home. ” Who would do that? Who shows up like that? In a world where people are quick to judge, dismiss, and look away, he chose to show up. …and I never left. ”
“Michael is my biggest cheerleader, my harshest critic, my biggest painkiller, and the person who believes in me more than anyone will ever have,” he added. “But more than that, he gave me something I didn’t even know I was missing. It’s safety. It doesn’t make me smaller, it makes me expand. He didn’t try to control me. He didn’t try to remake me. He pushed me, he challenged me. He forced me to see something bigger in myself when I wasn’t ready.”
Aycox, an immigrant and gay man currently living in the United States, has expressed dismay at the current administration’s far-right extremism.
“It’s heavy. There’s no way to ease it, because I’ve lived both sides of it,” he says solemnly. “On May 24, 2024, I became a U.S. citizen. And I remember that day clearly. It felt like everything I had fought for finally had meaning. It felt like it was okay to be gay, it was okay to be married, it was okay to live freely. It felt like hope. And now…I feel different.”
“And I don’t say that lightly,” he added, noting that it’s not even about politics at this point. “This is about humanity. … The moment we start deciding which human beings are more important than others, something breaks. The moment we take children from their families, take people from the only home they’ve known, erase the dignity of people who have spent years building their lives here, we lose the plan.”
“We have forgotten what it means to look at another human being and say, you are important“It’s not because of where you were born,” he added. Not for the people you love. Not because you contributed. Just by existing. ”
Aycox speaks to the world about his current appeal. “Be the person who shows up. Be the person who chooses kindness when it’s not convenient. Be the person who doesn’t turn away from others — completely. Because that’s where change begins.”
This article is part of The Advocate’s May-June 2026 print issue, on newsstands May 26. Support and subscribe to queer media — Or download the issue from Apple News+, Zinio, Nook, or PressReader.

This article originally appeared on Advocate: Marcos Aycox, aka The Tatted Violinist, found a better queer life through music
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