Work

I gave a pre-concert lecture on Thursday. Afterwards one of the audience members approached me and said that he teaches at a school and of the students who are learning music, often the girls are better than the boys, but all of the ones who pursue composition are boys; and he was wondering why that is? And as he said this I was thinking about my grad school, where out of the fifteen or so student composers I've met so far, one is a woman and none are nonbinary. And given that the programme of the concert consisted of four works by men, his question was relevant.

I said to him that maybe girls don't think composition is an avenue that's open to them, because they don't see many role models. I said this because the way he acted with me made me feel obligated to give an answer other than “this is sexism.” But it is, and there's no way around it.

Since then, I've been thinking about this in the context of my work, and I have a few things to say.

When I tell people that I'm interested in performing and promoting music by women, I've learned that I must include the caveat that I'm willing to play works by men as well, otherwise I risk not being taken seriously. And this is — oh, it's a huge problem. Not that I'm particularly averse to playing works by men; many of them are very good, and one of my daydreaming pastimes is putting together programmes of cello music where I juxtapose works by women with works by men, highlighting similarities or differences that I find interesting and illuminating. But there is a part of me that never wants to play a single piece by a man ever again, and this is in response to the sheer volume of music by men that is programmed, performed, and heard every year (a year is a fairly arbitrary measurement of time, but it's the one I've chosen here). And given that this is the part of me that first nudged me toward playing more music by women, it's not a part that I can easily suppress.

This is also a factor in other parts of my practice as a musician, specifically my desire to improvise more. If I'm improvising, at least I'm not playing a piece by a man, so the train of thought goes. Yet I'm not playing a pre-written piece at all. What exactly am I achieving?

As a nonbinary person who presents quite feminine, I am often seen as a woman, especially because I am so vocally supportive of music by women. This is erasive. It makes me feel cold and funny inside, and in my depressive episodes it can make me want to give up the cello. The burden of proof is on me several times over. I must prove that I am nonbinary. I must prove that the music I present is worthy of performance. I must prove that, as a nonbinary person, I am capable of presenting this music, written by women, well.

If your gender is binary, you have probably never thought about how it hurts to be gendered before I have opened my mouth. Before I have walked into a room. I am gendered when you see my name on an audition list, when you walk past me in the street or in hallways, when someone else misgenders me. Even if they correct themself, your first impression was still woman.

I haven't been to a concert in London since the BBC Proms ended. I can't stomach hearing more music by men, even if it's good music. Every programme, every curriculum, every repertoire list on applications is littered with the names of these men, men who were great artists because they had access to opportunities that women still have to fight for, men whose music we play because we don't like change. Beethoven is overshadowing Clara Schumann this year. Why? 250 is not any more significant than 200. In fact, I would say that 200 is more significant.

I set about programming my two master's recitals in my head. I think, for my lecture recital, I will be assessed on the analysis module, and I will write a work borrowing elements from another work by a woman. I have said to my teacher that I will attempt to have Bach VI ready for my final recital. I think, what are the pieces I will play? Can I get away with programming both of Ethel Smyth's cello sonatas in the same recital? (Yes, she wrote two. One is unpublished; for my master's project I plan to publish it.) Will that work with Bach? When the audience leave, will they remember any of it?

This hurts to think about. It hurts that music by women is relegated to ensembles who specialise in music by women or to short-term initiatives like Trinity Laban's one-year Venus Blazing project. It hurts that so many people don't think about this until I say something. It hurts that there is significant scholarship and research being done on music by women but we are still not hearing this music be performed. There is no music without performance, no theory without sound, no context without the product of said context. Give me Louise Farrenc's cello sonata on a programme with Frederic Chopin's cello sonata and perhaps a new work that references both of the older ones. Allow me, sometimes, to be the audience for the music that I spend so much time promoting and performing.

I cannot do this alone. That much I am sure of. This work is not meant for two hands only; it is meant to be shared, to be passed back and forth, because we are stronger together. And it is being done, but in different dispersed pockets like a jigsaw puzzle. The difference is that the jigsaw puzzle always goes together the same way. We are trying to find our way.