As I’ve begun settling back into Phoenix, I’ve decided that being upfront about my plans and trepidation is the best policy at this point in time. As a result, I’ve been honest with folks—common refrains are “I don’t play standards anymore,” “I’m still figuring out what I want to put energy into,” and “I’m picking projects I really like and going from there.” These ones are easy to swallow for most folks (though the standards one often raises some eyebrows until I add “this community killed that for me”); however, some of the truthful answers further down the playlist of “how are you?” are already raising some pushback.
The big one, unsurprisingly, is the simplest: in some ways, it’s terrifying to be back. Continue reading ““It’s Better Now” And Other Well-Intentioned Half-Truths”
I am sitting onstage with the Nash Composers Coalition—either at our inaugural concert or second; I can’t remember which—and we are almost through our set. The adrenaline is pumping, and despite the weight of carrying my gender on my back on that stage, I’m smiling. We’ve been riding the performance high all night, and spirits are high. As we round the bend into the last couple tunes, we call a free improvisation, with the title to be determined by the audience.
The first few suggestions are fine, harmless; they prompt thoughtful nods or friendly chuckles from me and my colleagues. They’re what we expect. Then someone—a guy, and by the self-satisfied tone of voice, it was probably a young or young-ish guy, though to my knowledge not one of my peers—shouted out something super sexual. I can’t remember if it was “seductive” or “foreplay” or something else entirely, but I remember the discomfort it brought to me immediately.
Hang on; I have to go look through those recordings now and see if I can find it. I want to get this right, and it’s a story I try not to remember. Continue reading “Audience Participation vs. Performer Protection: A Snapshot”
Okay, okay, the ground is moving again. And that’s putting it mildly—the 7.1 earthquake on July 5th was more powerful than the Northridge Earthquake (1994) and Loma Prieta (1989). Thankfully, injuries remain minor across the state, but I’ve realized a lot of folks in my social circles aren’t native Californians and/or didn’t grow up around this stuff, and as such, some of y’all are kind of freaking out.
First: being afraid of earthquakes is totally understandable, and even kind of (read: quite) sensible. I, and most of my childhood friends, grew up with parents who survived Loma Prieta and the knowledge that California is overdue for a major earthquake on basically every fault line. (Looking at you, Hayward and San Andreas.) We are perhaps a little too desensitized to the dangers of living here, but we also grew up doing earthquake drills at school and learning about earthquake kits, so we’re (theoretically) somewhat prepared. For the rest of y’all, though, I know this is new, and that’s okay.
Still, if you’re going to live in California, I highly recommend making an earthquake kit. This is basically a collection of necessities you might need if a Big One hits and you can’t stay in your house with comforts in easy reach. Beyond that, though, it’s an array of supplies to get you through a few days with no access to electricity, water, or a functioning grocery store. Continue reading “A Budget-Conscious Californian’s Guide to a First Earthquake Kit”
I’ve spent much of the week wondering what to write to close out this spree of blogs for Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I thought about writing about how doxxing and internet threats can endanger women’s lives. I thought about writing about the fight/flight/freeze mechanism (which will definitely come up later, I promise). I thought about making a list of ways in which my assault consistently changes my life and worldview. All of these would make great posts, but as we round out the month, I think it’s important to talk about things going on in the greater public consciousness that we should all be aware of. Some of these things involve policies that directly affect survivors’ wellbeing, and others are high-profile events that have produced significant negative side effects. In putting them all in one place (though there are undoubtedly too many others to name in a reasonable amount of column space), I hope you can start to see how policy and society at large work to limit women in ways that can have permanent, potentially fatal consequences for women. Continue reading “Stay Informed, Help Your Friends: A Survivor’s (Super-Abridged) Guide to Things You Should Know”
Earlier this week, I observed to my partner that a lot of my female friends are excited and aggressively supportive of the work I’m doing, both musically and in these posts, but I don’t get nearly the same feedback from my male friends. (Let’s also take a moment to remember: I am a brass player and a composer and occasionally I think about the word “jazz.” Most of my friends are men.) He considered this for a moment, then replied, “I think most of your guyfriends are too scared they’re the people you’re talking about.”
What a freaking moment, right?
That said, it’s a good point. I don’t have a great grasp on where my peers and colleagues think they fall on my spectrum of Nonthreatening Human to Violent Human Who Should Not Be Approached At This Time. And that’s not a question I should be asking them, because it’s not something they’re obligated to tell me. But I wanted to take a moment this week and offer up a series of points that might help the people who worry they’re maybe in the Mildly Threatening Human category (also: this scale does not actually exist) and who might want to become someone women with assaults in their past are comfortable trusting. Working toward being a better person is a great endeavor! I will support you from a distance that feels comfortable for me! If you’re just getting started with that journey, though (or if you’re on that journey or think you’re done with that journey, because we’re never done with that), here’s a few things I think might help: Continue reading “Don’t Shout (And Other Suggestions for Allies-In-Training)”
I spent much of the holiday season catching up on sleep and composing projects, and I’m happy to have some new things off the ground and some long-awaited scores nearing their premiere performances. This semester alone, I’ll have works performed in four to five states (which, for an early-career composer, is a Big Deal), and Letters will reach more audiences than ever before thanks to a couple large ensemble performances, a student recital (away from CalArts, even), and my own graduation project, face the mirror, which will have its own page soon but for now lives in my Projects catch-all. I’m super excited for each of these milestones and will devote more column space to each of them over the course of this semester, but I wanted to take a moment this week to talk a little about a piece I’ve just completed and how the concepts at play within it affect my own life on a day-to-day basis.
The work is called walking/I’m sorry, Mom and it was commissioned by my dear friend and fellow musical troublemaker Tanner Pfeiffer for the Contemporary Vocal Ensemble at CalArts. For CVE’s spring concert this year, Tanner is assembling a collection of works that explore, in some way or another, movement, theater, and/or dance within a musical performance context. Much of the art I currently enjoy making incorporates theatrical or dance elements, so I was excited to hop on board to contribute something new. Originally, I’d been aiming for a work that established strong connections between physical aftereffects of assault and their mental repercussions, but as dark works tend to do, the music pulled me in a different direction.
I wrote walking about what is [unfortunately] a quintessential part of the stereotypical female experience—a strange man, with unclear intentions, following a woman home late at night. “Don’t walk alone in the dark” was one of the sentiments that shaped my own coming-of-age experiences; ASU’s campus is lovely at night, and frequently the only reasonable time to walk around and enjoy the area is after the sun goes down, so eighteen-year-old me admittedly didn’t follow my mom’s advice to the letter. I’m fortunate that I started walking with friends before I could run into cause for concern, but I have friends (both from my time at ASU and other moments) who have dealt with these issues repeatedly.
More than that, though, walking isn’t just about being alone at night. It’s about being approached by a man—in any situation—and having to make that snap judgment of how to react. It’s about Schrödinger’s rapist. Continue reading “Schrödinger’s Rapist and His Presence in Male Spaces”
My brothers and sisters and siblings and I, we have been violated. We have been attacked and groped and touched intentionally and carelessly and recklessly. Our attackers may know what they did to us; all the same, they may have forgotten entirely, relegated us and our pain to the insignificant past. We have been hurt beyond all telling. And we don’t report. Continue reading “We Don’t Report”
I have carried the weight of my own existence for a long time. Some days it’s light and life is easy. I laugh and love, I take the risks I’ve dreamed of, I pursue my best self relentlessly. I am my own best comforter.
On these days, my mind is sharp. I engage with my peers, my friends, my colleagues. I am brash and loud and bold. I am the woman fourth-grade me would be so excited about. And on those days, very little can touch me—I’m up in the clouds, soaring to my heart’s content. On these days, I am free of my past. (This feels good.)
I have carried the shame of my own existence for a long time. Some days it’s so overpowering I can’t breathe very well. I fall silent. I pull away. I can’t bring myself to confide in the people I love; they don’t need to watch me suffer. I shrink into myself, asking what I was wearing or why I was alone or why I didn’t report or whatever other vitriol someone in power chose to sling at a survivor today. (This does not feel good.) I reduce myself to a casualty of this war to normalize violent behavior. I find a thousand things to write but none to say aloud, lest I find myself the target of that powerful person’s vitriol someday. I let my music speak for me because there are still so many things I can’t bring myself to say. And I bleed. (This does not feel good.)
Continue reading “this does not feel good”
TW: sexual assault
My parents enrolled me in dance classes when I was three years old. My mom claims it was because I was clumsy (I believe her, as I’m still clumsy), but integrating myself into a world of high buns, leotards, pink tights, and hairspray taught me innumerable lessons that have affected my musical training from the beginning. Dancing was where music got to be fun, where I got out all the energy I’d never be able to project through a horn or a piano. But there were hidden benefits, too—chief among them, the safety net that helped me as a young victim of sexual assault.
Unlike the majority of women, my assault wasn’t committed by someone I knew, but claiming and using my body as my own, as something I could use to create amazing things, was and is a key part of my recovery. Dance has always been key to that. And the most affirming things I’ve ever heard from a teacher were spoken in dance class: “Is it okay if I fix your posture?” “Can I lift your leg to help you stretch?” “Will you come up here to show the class?” “I’m going to shape your foot, okay?”
Did you catch the commonality running through these questions? Each one asked my permission for an act that required my body. Further, not a single teacher touched us outside of those corrective moments, except for high fives or holding hands (you try herding twelve kindergarteners onto a dark stage and let me know how that works out). I knew as early as elementary school that people should ask before touching me, and I owe that to my dance teachers past and present.
Dance has its fair share of systemic problems. Not all teachers are like that. But in music, most teachers aren’t. Continue reading “A Memo to Private Teachers/A Thank You to My Dance Instructors”
Over the past year, CalArts has allowed me to learn at my own pace while providing countless opportunities I wouldn’t get elsewhere. That said, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Like every school, CalArts has serious downsides it needs to address. I can’t speak as much to programs and events outside the music school, but even within HASOM (the Herb Alpert School of Music), there are significant issues that require more management than students or faculty are capable of providing individually. And sometimes, the administration’s what’s causing the problems. So buckle in, everyone. This one’s long.
Let’s start with my favorite part of every school: the Title IX office. Continue reading “A CalArts Year in Review: Part Two”