Performer Magazine: January 2016

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A I E U C O ISS

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A FIRST-HAND LOOK AT EQUALITY, DISCRIMINATION & SOCIAL JUSTICE IN THE INDEPENDENT MUSIC COMMUNITY. FEATURING INTERVIEWS & ESSAYS FROM ARTISTS & INDUSTRY PROFESSIONALS ON SEXISM, RACISM, LGBT RIGHTS AS WELL AS ADVOCACY INFORMATION FOR A CHANGING INDUSTRY LANDSCAPE.

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SPECIAL ISSUE SOCIAL JUSTICE & EQUALITY IN THE MUSIC INDUSTRY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOLUME 26, ISSUE 1

4. Letter From the Editor 5. Opening Remarks 6. Overwhelming Whiteness of the

8

Boston Music Scene

8. Why I Am A Jewish Rapper, Not a Rapper Who is Jewish

12. The Challenge of Being a

Black Music Journalist

14. Confederate Iconography

16

in Modern Music

16.

INTERVIEW: Cutters on Being a Genderqueer Artist Today

20. The Gender Trap in Audio Production 22. The Importance of LGBT-Friendly Outlets for DIY Musicians

24. Rachael Sage on Being

24

a Female Producer

28. Eradicating Racial Divides

Through Disco

30. Misogyny in the PDX Metal Scene 34. American History Through

The Lens of Black Art

36. Mike Park on Diversity and

30

Racism in the Punk Scene

38. WAM: Putting Women Behind

The Glass in Studios

40. TWB: Touring While Black 43. SPEAK Easy on Social Injustice 44. What’s Your Band Called?

40

46. A Soundtrack to Black Love 48. Flashback: Vintage Okeh

Race Records Ad Cover Design by

Bob Dobalina

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 3

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

What defines us as human beings? When you look at someone, do you think about their race, their gender, their ethnic background? When someone looks at me, do they see just a white male? Do they see a Jew? Do they see an American? Or something worse, perhaps something I’m not?

We’re asking these questions, because without them, there’s simply no dialogue. Just a bunch of unproductive shouting at each other. And worse: violence. I’d like to think that as a nation (and world), we’ve come a long way in embracing social justice and equality, but what do I know?

question to facilitate a dialogue: Who are you, and how does that impact your art and career?

The following pages represent just a few dozen of the countless voices in the music community today.

Who are you? Share your story with us, and your fellow artists. It’s only through an active and open communication that we’ll ever understand each other and ourselves.

Volume 26, Issue 1 PO BOX 348 Somerville, MA 02143 CONTACT

Phone: 617-627-9200 Fax: 617-627-9930 PUBLISHER

William House Phone: 617-627-9919 bill@performermag.com EDITOR

Benjamin Ricci, editor

It became evident early on in the process of planning this issue that we should take a step back and not actually write it. We should let the artists who are out there on the road and in the studios every day tell their stories. In their own words. In their own voices. And we started with a simple

Benjamin Ricci ben@performermag.com DESIGN & ART DIRECTION

Cristian Iancu

EDITORIAL ASSISTANT

Bob Dobalina editorial@performermag.com CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

P.S. – This isn’t meant to be a political issue, although admittedly we do condemn the certain symbols of hate and oppression somewhere around page 14. I broke my promise not to let personal feelings influence any aspect of this print issue, but that’s one I couldn’t let go. For more on why, read our opening remarks on the following page…

Anjimile Yvonne, Benjamin Ricci, Candace McDuffie, Cookie Marenco, Elisabeth Wilson, Katie Cole, Kosha Dillz, Lynn Casper, Mega Ran, Mike Park, Noelle Duncan, Rachael Sage, Sabrina Lambros, Shirlette Ammons, SPEAK Easy, Tony Eubank CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

Aaron Sharpsteen, Drew Bandy, Leah Corbett, Mickey Yeh, Priscilla Witte, Shane Lange, Shervin Lainez, Tim Walter, Vee Hertel ADVERTISING SALES

William House Phone: 617-627-9919 bill@performermag.com

performermag.com

/performermagazine

@performermag

ABOUT US

CORRECTIONS

Performer Magazine, a nationally distributed musician’s trade publication, focuses on independent musicians, those unsigned and on small labels, and their success in a DIY environment. We’re dedicated to promoting lesser-known talent and being the first to introduce you to artists you should know about.

Did we make a heinous blunder, factual error or just spell your name wrong? Contact editorial@performermag.com and let us know, cuz we’re big enough to say, “Baby, I was wrong.”

MUSIC SUBMISSIONS We listen to everything that comes into the office. We prefer physical CDs, cassettes and vinyl over downloads. If you do not have a physical copy, send download links to editorial@performermag.com.No attachments, please. Send CDs to: Performer Magazine Attn: Reviews PO BOX 348 Somerville, MA 02143

4 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

EDITORIAL SUBMISSIONS In the words of our esteemed forefathers at CREEM: “NOBODY WHO WRITES FOR THIS RAG’S GOT ANYTHING YOU AIN’T GOT, at least in the way of credentials. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be sending us your stuff: reviews, features, photos, recording tips, DIY advice or whatever else you have in mind that might be interesting to our readers: independent and DIY musicians. Who else do ya know who’ll publish you? We really will... ask any of our dozens of satisfied customers.

Just bop it along to us to editorial@performermag.com and see what comes back your way. If you have eyes to be in print, this just might be the place. Whaddya got to lose?

Whaddya got?”

© 2016 by Performer Publications, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced by any method whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher. The magazine accepts no responsibility for unsolicited recordings, manuscripts, artwork or photographs and will not return such materials unless requested and accompanied by a SASE. Annual Subscription Rate is $30 in the U.S.; $45 outside the U.S.

L

Benjamin Ricci, Editor

et’s get one thing straight. This is not a bullshit, “let’s-feel-good-about-ourselves-for-doinga-diversity-issue” kind of issue. As stated, we think that’s bullshit and the ultimate in selfcongratulatory phoniness. I’d like to think we have much more imaginative ways to be phonies around here, thank you very much.

SPECIAL ISSUE

WELCOME TO THE SPECIAL ISSUE

Rather, think of this as more of a state of the union type of issue. Taking stock of where musicians are at during this particular point in time and place, as we move from 2015 into 2016 in the United States. Frankly, it looks like it’s shaping up to be a scary-looking election year, but that’s for another magazine and another day. We’ll keep our focus on musicians and audio professionals, if that’s OK. Rather than task our own writers with articles about diversity in the music industry, and populating the front cover with token, smiling LGBT musicians and artists of color (which would have been totally easy, totally do-able, and totally bullshit), we turned it around and asked artists and creative professionals in our industry to pen the entire issue themselves. We further asked them to be as honest as possible, and to answer the questions that most interviewers are simply uncomfortable asking. We wanted to hear in their own words what it’s like to be AfricanAmerican, gay, genderqueer, female, Jewish, Asian, etc. in the current cultural climate. It’s only though an open discussion, and hearing how other people view the world and their place in it, that we can ever hope to make any headway at all in learning to live together without killing each other.

Have we covered everything? No, of course not. There are only so many stories you can tell in a limited number of printed pages. We hope to run more stories online when the issue is published, though. Have we solved any problems, come to any conclusive action plans to make the world a better, more tolerable place? Nope. That’s not the goal of the issue, either. The goal was to simply start the dialogue. If you skip that first crucial step, I don’t think you can get anywhere, no matter how hard how try or how noble your intentions. And frankly, I’m not convinced we’ll ever solve all our problems as human beings inhabiting the same planet, but there’s room for growth. And that’s gotta begin somewhere.

It’s important to note that the articles on the following pages are comprised of the opinions, experiences and feelings of the authors. We encourage you to share your own opinions and comments with us through social media and our website as we publish these articles online throughout the month. We want to know your story. How does who you are influence your art or career? Do you agree or disagree with what folks have to say in this issue? Do you have a completely different take on things? Let us know – we welcome your point of view as part of the discussion.

As I said in my letter from the editor, this isn’t meant to be a political issue, although we do feature one piece with overt criticism of Confederate iconography in music. It was one topic with which I have personal experience, both as an intended victim of prejudice (that skinhead made a very unwise choice in attacking me, let’s leave it at that), and as a witness to a racially-motivated crime (no one was hurt, thank whatever-higher-power-you-believe-in). In both instances, I saw what that symbol in particular and a warped ideology could mean in a real-world context, and the fear it has the power of instilling in others without the utterance of a single word or threat. I’ve decided not to elaborate further on these events in my past, other than to say that I count myself lucky to have escaped both with only minor trauma.

Have I let my experiences affect my editorial impartiality? Probably.

I’m human.

So are you. So let’s talk…

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 5

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On the Overwhelming Whiteness of the Boston Music Scene 6 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

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Leah Corbett Photography Anjimile Yvonne

“The first step to dismantling racism and oppression is recognizing its existence.”

T

he Boston indie rock scene is overwhelmingly white.

If you’re reading this and this is the first time the aforementioned sentiment has ever crossed your mind, you’re probably white. I’ve been playing live music in Boston for about four years now. Back in 2013 I had the privilege of playing a few gigs with a good friend of mine who is also a ridiculously funkadocious bass player. Like myself, he is black. In total, I think we played about 7 or 8 shows together. On two separate occasions, at the conclusion of two different shows, we were asked by two different booking agents if we were related. “Because you look similar,” they said. The bass player and I do not look alike. We both have big toothy smiles. We’re both awesome musicians.

We’re both black. But we do NOT look alike. I don’t think that either of these promoters had ever even seen a local indie rock band with two black musicians before.

So why is the Boston indie rock scene so white?

a statistical fact that 75% of white Americans don’t have any non-white friends**.

As Pitchfork recently pointed out in an eloquent article, indie rock in general is overwhelmingly white. I’d extend that sentiment to all rock music. Additionally, Boston is extremely segregated and that level

So, statistically it makes sense that a group of white bros would form an all-white band, invite all of their white friends to their white shows and have a big white party. So, what’s the problem with that? The problem is, white

“There aren’t enough people of color in the Boston indie rock scene, and that is a problem.” of segregation extends to the local music scene.

If I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen 4-piece indie bands comprised of four white guys in t-shirts, I would have to surgically attach about 50 more fingers to that hand. The promoters are white, the bands are white, the fans are white. Everyone is white. It’s

people aren’t the only race of humans that listen to or create indie rock. As a black musician, whenever I book shows I make a point to look for bands comprised of women, queer people and people of color because these demographics are embarrassingly underrepresented in the Boston indie music scene.

So, what are we supposed to do about the overwhelming whiteness of the Boston indie music scene? Honestly, I don’t know. At the very least, I believe it starts with awareness and critical analysis. Is your band comprised exclusively of cis white men? Is your band comprised exclusively of white people? Is your fanbase primarily white? Are your shows essentially a sea of white people? The first step to dismantling racism and oppression is recognizing its existence. The next time you’re at a show, take a moment to examine the racial diversity of the crowd, because it says a lot about the band and it says a lot about the scene. There aren’t enough people of color in the Boston indie rock scene, and that is a problem.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Anjimile fronts a 4-piece indie rock band in Boston, combining introspective, emotionally charged lyricism and undeniably catchy, indie-pop melodies. Anjimile’s first full-length studio album, Human Nature, was released in March.

Follow on Twitter @anjimile **https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/ wonk/wp/2014/08/25/three-quarters-of-whitesdont-have-any-non-white-friends/ PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 7

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WHY I AM A JEWISH RAPPER, NOT A RAPPER WHO IS JEWISH

BY KOSHA DILLZ

8 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

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wish I could tell you the exact meaning of what it would be like to have a name “Kosha Dillz,” which my entire family calls me by when I appear in the house. If I could only explain the feeling of what it means to represent an entire culture, faith and race of people, and I will do my best, as it can be interpreted in so many ways.

Before I begin, let me bring you back to a little bit of history of crossing from “white rapper who is Jewish” to “Jewish rapper.”

When I first started rhyming in NJ, my level of hip hop consisted of ughh.com chat rooms and Real Player instrumentals, and message boards which are nearly obsolete in the world of Instagram and Twitter. All I wanted was to battle and rhyme with other emcees. I wanted to be better than everyone. I wanted to win. It was like wrestling to me.

When I was incarcerated from the age of 20 to 21, I learned quickly that I was not a typical white rapper. I was a Jew, and my best friends in jail were a born again Christian named Smitty and a converted Muslim named Aggravated Chuck. I rhymed mostly about drugs (doing and selling), and eventually upon release, I returned to the name KD FLOW, to hide my Jewishness.

Upon my next return to the bars in 2004, I decided upon release with my producer Mondee that my music would be introduced to the world as Kosha Dillz. My record label was Matzah 4 Yo Mouf Records, and I released my 12’’ vinyl.

It was the most stereotypical Jewish cover. A matzah ball, with a piece of matzah in the mouth of said matzah ball, and a yarmulke on top of the matzah ball. The lyrics had nothing to do with Jewishness. At this point still a “white rapper who was Jewish.” I was on parole and probation, and was basically rhyming, working, and staying off drugs and alcohol. Pretty simple.

“Don’t be afraid to piss people off, get rejected, be pushed to the outside, and not let in.

Haters will do it no matter what you are.”

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Fast forward many years and many wars later, and many news articles and advancements to social media later, the definition of who I am has changed. I never thought I would sign up to be the artist who I am, trying to make “Jewish” cool, if it already was. I would never think that people would blacklist me for being a Jew because they felt I controlled opportunities, or because I cared about the rights of Israel, or because I played it up on stage (because I enjoyed it).

I truly enjoyed being Jewish as I always had, incorporating more Jewishness into my songs as more and more people encouraged me to do so. As I said before: I just wanted to rhyme and be dope.

“Make a song about The Promised Land,” someone told me. I did.

“Make a song in Hebrew,” someone told me. I did.

“Start incorporating stuff about your

SPECIAL ISSUE Israeli background,” someone told me. I did.

“That’s dope,” I thought to myself. I enjoyed the writing process and the underground, Middle Eastern sound. It was a challenge, but also sampled the early ’90s hip-hop sound while still

too Jewish (WTF?) Then I started to feel the backlash. Booking agents would think that I am too Jewish for them (even though they were Jewish, too). Artists felt I was too associated with Israel to make music with them, so they couldn’t tour with me (but I am dual citizen of Israel/

“I enjoy the fact that I am a niche. Embracing the truth of who I really am is everything an artist is supposed to be.” making myself distinct from everyone else. Circa 2007-2010 I was being invited all over the world because I was on the forefront of Jewish music.

I toured with Matisyahu all across the world in 2009 and also won the Summerjam Hot 97 rap battle. I was trying to make something cool that many people hated and misunderstood. It was really just a thing for me to do. But as I got more popular and ended up in festivals like SXSW and CMJ, I found myself getting scouted by the typical agent and management situation.

“You’ll never get a deal or blow up with a name like Kosha Dillz,” they told me. It was

USA). I found myself unable to go on tour with other artists and other booking agents who felt my Jewish-ness was intimidating them, because I was too intense. Religious people thought I wasn’t religious enough for them. Could antiSemitism exist in multiple facets? My whole family was killed in the Holocaust. Wasn’t theirs too?

People say that you don’t want to get boxed into a niche. That will have you lose opportunity.

I say they are wrong. I enjoy the fact that I am a niche. Embracing the truth of who I really am is everything an artist is supposed to be. And

anyone who has rejected me, another door opens.

I perform music in multiple languages, hustle around the world, live a hard-core adventure, and haven’t done anything outside of music for the past 5-6 years. I have performed for 500,000+ fans in 41 cities on Vans Warped Tour 2015. I was in the BET Cypher. I have performed at the Israel Day Parade on a float. I have performed at the 2012 Olympics during halftime of Turkey vs. China wheelchair basketball. I am a playable video game character in NBA 2k11/ 2k13. I have rapped at synagogues, churches, street corners, empty bars in Kansas, and in front of 15,000 people in France. If being locked in a box is so bad, then why do I have all this opportunity?

I only remind myself, because if I don’t, I forget all the opportunity I get from being myself.

A super hustling, crazy freestyling, awkward songwriting, Jewish rapping bad ass Mother F’er.

The best part of it all? Filling out my taxes.

Don’t be afraid to piss people off, get rejected, be pushed to the outside, and not let in. Haters will do it no matter what you are.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Kosha Dillz is an American rapper, honored as one of The Jewish Week’s 2013 “36 Under 36,” an annual list of young visionaries reshaping and broadening the Jewish community. Follow him on Twitter @koshadillz.

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es, there have been nights where the liquor flowed recklessly while I was covering a show and I spent the next morning wondering how the hell I made it home in one piece. What I found even more baffling was the fact that I not only made my deadline (impressively with hours to spare), but my review was meticulously written and every detail was chiseled to perfection. After being a music writer for nearly a decade, I have figured out the illustrious balance between work and leisure, between exertion and enjoyment. But my journey as a black female music journalist in a mostly white and male dominated industry--an industry where the boundaries are infinitely obscured and there will never be a standard set of rules to follow--has been nothing short of a rollercoaster ride stippled with misconceptions.

Because of my gender, people often assume that when I’m on assignment, I’m actually: a groupie masquerading as a writer completely devoid of any actual musical knowledge, a freelancer who solely receives bylines because my superior (who must be male) has designs on me, or an ornamental spectator who happens to attend concerts strictly for the people watching

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The Reality of Being a Black Female Journalist in Today’s Music Industry Candace McDuffie music, their response to my profession is even more callous and they somehow equate my success as a threat to their masculinity (my exboyfriend once yelled at me for getting him photo pit access to one of his favorite live bands). The fact that I’m a black female music journalist who loves all genres of music is a difficult concept for some to swallow.

When I once recalled to a friend the borderline prepubescent glee I experienced while singing into Adam Lazzara’s microphone at the epic Taking Back Sunday 10 Year Anniversary show in Boston for Tell All Your Friends, she interrupted me mid-story to inquire how many black people were at the concert. I honestly cannot count how many ignorant comments I received over the years regarding my extensive musical palette. The remarks have ranged from people telling me they thought black people only listened to rap music to an instance of another black person approaching me at a music festival because he was shocked to see someone who looked like him in attendance.

I have never been ashamed of the diverse range of influences I’ve amassed over the years;

supposedly makes me exotic, and therefore a fetish. The truth of the matter is: I’ve busted my ass to get where I am today. When websites offered to pay me only in exposure and experience, I took the opportunities without muttering a single complaint. My days often consist of waking up hours before my shift at work to edit an article, scheduling an interview with a band on my lunch break then dragging myself to a show after work because I promised my editor a write up on it in the morning.

My social calendar hinges on what acts are coming to town and which publicists are looking for coverage. I’m virtually on the brink of carpal tunnel from how quickly I’ve learned to reply to editors asking for pitches, pacify PR folks requesting confirmation for an interview that was supposed to run, and reach out to writers covering a certain assignment because someone bailed the last minute. I have lost countless friends and hours of sleep chasing my dream. But music is my passion, my love, my everything. I have the best damn job in the entire world-and I wouldn’t change a thing.

For more, visit www.candacemcduffie.com.

“The fact that I’m a black female music journalist who loves all genres of music is a difficult concept for some to swallow.” and occasional free booze. When I introduce myself to a group of new people as a music writer and share that I even have my own website to display my portfolio, their eyes grow big--almost incredulously--as they mindlessly remark, “That’s cool” before rolling them and quickly moving onto another topic.

Whenever I’m around a group of guys who consider themselves knowledgeable about

I will unapologetically wax poetically about my favorite rapper then pen the most poignant live review on a ’90s alt-rock band you’ve ever read.

But the most hurtful assumption when it comes to my career in journalism is that my career is grounded in luck, not hard work.

Apparently, simply flaunting my sexuality is enough to get me on guest lists and in tour buses and in magazines and on blogs. My ethnicity

Candace with her sister J'amille covering a recent concert

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 13

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The Contemporary Role of Confederate Iconography in Southern Music

W

hat we refer to as the Confederate flag has a controversial and downright oppressive history in the United States. It originally was a battle flag for the Confederacy as they fought for the continuance of slavery in America during the Civil War. Many Southerners, however, find the flag to be a source of “heritage” and “pride,” not viewing its image and usage as discriminatory, but instead as a nod to their familial lineage.

However, the Confederate flag didn’t enter mainstream culture until 100 years after the Civil War. In the 1960s, it became a ubiquitous symbol in Southern music. Artists adopted the flag to represent rebelliousness, identification as an “outlaw,” and to appeal to blue-collar Americans.

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Sabrina Lambros

However, it’s hardly a coincidence that this is the exact time that the Civil Rights Movement was in full-force.

Music historian and journalist Robert K. Oermann notes, “I believe it became a response to the death of segregation. That’s when these various states began to display the flag, and it started being much more visible. So these country stars, that’s the way they grew up. They grew up thinking, ‘Oh, it’s just a recognition of my ancestors, and I want to honor my ancestors.’

Well, you know, I’m a German American, and I don’t display the swastika.”

The industry has already been quietly shifting away from use of the flag. Younger artists don’t have the same connection with the flag,

as many of them grew up in a different cultural climate in the South. Also, they’ve steered clear of the flag in order to reach wider audiences.

Instead, they’ve adopted the American flag.

Even veteran bands that have built their reputations around Confederate iconography are trying to ditch this symbolism, most notably Lynyrd Skynyrd. They’re a band that has become almost synonymous with the symbol, displaying it on album covers and merchandise for the better part of four decades.

In 2012, Gary Rossington, the only remaining original member of Lynyrd Skynyrd, announced that the band would stop using the flag as a stage backdrop. He claims that, “Through the years, people like the KKK and skinheads kinda

kidnapped the Dixie or Southern flag from its tradition and the heritage of the soldiers, that’s what it was about. We didn’t want that to go to our fans or show the image like we agreed with any of the race stuff or any of the bad things.” This isn’t an uncommon view, that the flag was “stolen” by racists, but really, the South repurposed it long after the flag’s racist history.

Fan reactions to Rossington’s announcement are a true testament to the ignorance still thriving in many parts of the United States. Many were outraged upon the flag’s removal from the band’s image, so the band compromised and flew an American flag behind them at shows, with a smaller Confederate flag off to the side.

But many artists still continue to use the iconography, despite the fact that according to a recent CNN poll, nearly three-fourths of of African Americans find the Confederate flag to be offensive. As the music has spread behind the South’s borders, the flag has followed. It’s still not unheard of to see music fans in New Jersey or New Hampshire wearing a Confederate flag draped around their shoulders at a country music festival. Even as recently as July, bands such as Nashville Pussy were selling merchandise with the flag on it.

Artists are still reacting to criticism, however.

Trace Adkins was seen on a live TV performance in 2012 with a Confederate flag earpiece. After receiving a lot of negativity in the press, he was

something far larger in our nation, and it’s not a discussion that will go away or be resolved any time in the near future. The entire landscape of the country, especially with racial acceptance, is changing. It’s clear that racism is not completely gone, although small (but hopefully meaningful) steps are being taken by public figures (especially in the music industry) to eradicate symbols of hate, bigotry and oppression.

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never seen with it again. This arouses a question of why artists are moving away from the flag. Is it really a change of heart on their part, or is it just to avoid controversy?

Many musicians have stayed quiet on the issue. However, country star Brad Paisley tried to address it in a collaborative song with LL Cool J called “Accidental Racist.” The track is about a man wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt to a Starbucks and trying to explain himself to the barista. LL Cool J responds with lyrics such as: “If you don’t judge my do-rag, I won’t judge your red flag / If you don’t judge my gold chains, I’ll forget the iron chains.” The song was a disaster, met with a heavy amount of criticism about reducing slavery to almost comically ridiculous terms. However, Paisley’s goal was get people talking about the debate, which was a valuable sentiment, if not a misguided artistic effort.

Another artist who’s spoken out publicly about the Confederate flag is Kanye West.

He has used the flag ironically, sporting it on merchandise and even on himself during his Yeezus tour. He said of the subject on L.A. radio station 97.1 AMP, “React how you want. Any energy is good energy. The Confederate flag represented slavery in a way. That’s my abstract take on what I know about it, right? So I wrote the song ‘New Slaves.’ I took the Confederate flag and made it my flag. It’s my flag now.”

However, the removal of the Confederate flag at the South Carolina State Capitol this past July has made the push to be rid of the flag, especially on government property, even stronger. A further example in the music industry is the disappearance of Confederate flag merchandise from Pantera’s website following the removal [although Dean Guitars continues to market and sell the Dimebag Dixie Rebel guitar (pictured below), complete with Confederate graphics on both he body and headstock].

The entire controversy definitely represents

SOURCES FOR FURTHER READING: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/whyare-these-bands-still-selling-confederate-flagmerch-20150709 h t t p : //t a s t e o f c o u n t r y .c o m /r e m o v e - t h e confederate-flag-from-country-music/ http://bigstory.ap.org/article/24915b44d8174c55 b64cd1c56ee6c57a/country-music-struggles-itsconfederate-flag-past http://www.denverpost.com/music/ci_28460845/ country-music-struggles-its-confederate-flagpast http://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/ rock/6612900/confederate-flag-music-lynyrdskynyrd-kanye-west-pantera-accidental-racistalabama http://news.nationalpost.com/arts/starsand-barred-for-southern-rockers-andcountry-singers-the-confederate-flag-is-anuncomfortable-heritage http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2015/06/ even_lynyrd_skynyrd_wanted_to.html

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SPECIAL ISSUE Benjamin Ricci Vee Hertel

How Pierce Lightn Addresses Gen Through Surviv 16 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

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htning of Cutters nder Identity ival Punk PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 17

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utters is a Brooklyn-based, self-described “survival punk” outfit formed in 2012 by lead vocalist Pierce Lightning. We recently had a chance to chat with Pierce about the band’s latest 7-inch, both//neither, and the singer’s choice to address his gender identity through music.

that never really sat well with me. The past couple of years have lead to me embracing the small ways that I can subvert the traditional gender paradigm in ways that are, not really radical, but definitely challenging common perceptions.

You describe your band as “survival punk.”

Can you explain what you mean by that? Is it a stylistic/genre term, or a more literal term?

So many people use music as a coping mechanism, but I think we wanted to put that idea front and center. There’s a certain level of desperation involved in punk rock and CUTTERS was really born out of that. So it’s a little stylistic and a bit literal but I think it gets the point across.

Your new 7-inch is titled “both//neither.” Can one assume that is a reference to your gender identity?

Yep, totally. I felt it was important to be direct this time around. I’ve always included references to gender in songs and bands I’ve been in but I’ve never been so overt about it. Art is pretty subjective and I think that the broader themes of alienation and loneliness are still present on this 7”, but for me, and how those themes are related to me, gender identity is at the center of it.

Could you walk us through your creative process a bit? What does songwriting look like to you? How do you approach the studio?

Our creative process is a bit all over the place.

Usually, I’ll have some lyrics written and then Brian [Deodat, guitarist] will send me a bunch of videos of him playing guitar. I’ll make terrible

Have you had any genderqueer musical role models to look up to as you started your career?

I don’t know. I’ve been in bands since I was 15 and I was always drawn to Bowie, The New York Dolls, Jayne County and the like. But I don’t know if I saw them as role models. It always seemed like

“I was assigned male at birth and that never really sat well with me.” demos with GarageBand then we’ll get together and try to flesh them out in his living room. Then we bring them to Mike [Strianese, bass] and John [Luther, drums] at practice and they help with the arrangements and writing their parts.

I don’t play anything so I act more as a director in the songwriting process. “More of this, less of that, etc.” And usually it comes together.

The studio is a nightmare, though. We track everything individually so it can take a long time.

I hate recording.

You identify as non-binary/genderqueer.

To those who may be unfamiliar, can you describe what that means to you personally, and do you prefer non-descript pronouns like “them/they, etc.”?

I do prefer gender neutral pronouns. Basically, I don’t identify as any specific gender so I take the parts that I like and kind of mash them up into something else. I was assigned male at birth and

something I couldn’t do. I think that if I have any queer musical role models, they’re much more current. Bands like Adult Mom, PWR BTTM and G.L.O.S.S. being out and unafraid to be themselves are really powerful.

As an independent musician, can you comment on how you feel our industry treats genderqueer artists?

I think that a lot of people aren’t really equipped to understand the nuances that surround gender identity. And that’s not their fault. We’re definitely going through a bit of a mass cultural awakening with regards to how and why we define ourselves the way we do, but sometimes there’s a lot of base knowledge that’s needed to actually actively participate in a discussion. And thirty seconds in between loud guitar songs isn’t exactly the best place to have those discussions, either. I think that gender nonconforming artists still exist as outsiders in outsider art forms, but hopefully not always.

“I think that a lot of people aren’t really equipped to understand the nuances that surround gender identity.”

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Has this treatment changed (for better or worse) since you first got involved in music?

I think it’s gotten better. I’m really lucky in the sense that I’ve never experienced any violence directly related to my gender identity or presentation. But I’m an exception. I know so many people who go through so much shit every day, which just piles on to all of the self-inflicted negativity that they feel. It’s not easy. But I think that finding a queer community to be safe in is really important and the more those spaces grow, the better off everyone is.

Has your identity every posed challenges to your career? Do you face any issues with new audiences, press, getting booked, even walking into a music store to buy instruments?

I don’t think it has. We try to be very conscious about the bands we’re playing with, the promoters that we’re playing for and the spaces that we play in. Do I get some weird looks at a show if I’m presenting more femme when people expect me to be more masculine because of my voice? Sure.

But no one has ever (to my knowledge) stopped listening to us because of it.

How does your identity influence your music? Or is that an irrelevant question in 2016?

It might be irrelevant in any year, because a musician’s identity always influences their music.

SPECIAL ISSUE Our lyrics and subject matter are usually filtered through me, so my experiences are always going to be a factor.

Do you think you’re a role model?

I don’t try to be but if I’m helping someone else, I’m fine being called one.

Do you have any advice for fellow musicians who may face discrimination or feel unsure about how to present their gender/sexual identities to the public?

First of all, make sure that your collaborators understand you. I am blessed to be in a band where my identity is not an issue with my band mates.

And even though I didn’t sit them down and talk about it, they just got it and moved on. It was a no stress kind of thing and it allowed me to be more public, because I knew they had my back.

But more importantly, remember that your own journey in understanding your identity goes at whatever pace you want it to. It’s not a race. No one

is doing it better than you because they’ve made more obvious changes to their appearance or are going by a new name. You owe it to yourself to be kind to yourself.

How do you see our industry evolving over the next 5-10 years as it relates to gender, race and other equality issues?

I think there’s still a lot of work to do. I mean, we still live in a world where female astronauts were asked how they would survive in space without men or make-up. That’s ludicrous. And the music industry is really no better. There’s a struggle to understand that there isn’t just one trans narrative and the one that is bandied about in the media is one of transition from something to something else. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for people who might never transition and don’t have the financial means to be Caitlyn Jenner. There’s a still a really long road ahead. So many people still feel unsafe, even at shows and within music communities. But I hope that if we keep having these discussions that we are making these space more inclusive.

“Remember that your own journey in understanding your identity goes at whatever pace you want it to. It’s not a race.”

Follow on Twitter: @Cutters_NY

CUTTERS BOTH//NEITHER STANDOUT TRACK: “LIST OF PEOPLE BURIED AT ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY”

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The Gender Trap in Audio Production What’s it Like to Be a Woman in a Male-Dominated Field?

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hen I was asked to write this piece, I thought it best to ask the people who work with me about the gender issue.

Elena and Gio are just entering the industry and were kind enough to put their thoughts in writing.

From Elena Brewster – assistant at OTR Studios and Blue Coast Records It’s not something I usually think about in the middle of a session, but as I reflect on my experiences as a woman (both in and out of the studio) I have realized that my femininity is an innate source of self confidence and power. When I was first learning how to be a recording engineer I thought that if I was going to be taken seriously by my hypothetical future boss, I would have to hide that part of myself. One of the best parts of working with and learning from Cookie is that I

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don’t have to do that. I can just be myself without having insecurities about if I actually deserve the position that I have at the studio.

As a producer and engineer Cookie specializes in creating a safe place for artists to capture the most compelling recordings. I’m lucky enough to be right in the middle of her business and can’t imagine a better learning environment. And of course this is because on top of her production skills, she is also a wise entrepreneur who values the people who work for her -- she figures out what you’re good at and challenges you to hone those skills. So yeah, besides the personal comfort and sense of awe that comes from knowing my boss had the guts to establish herself and her business in a male-dominated industry, not much else really has to do with the fact that she’s a woman.

From Gio Jacuzzi - assistant at OTR Studios and Blue Coast Records At the end of the day, what matters is how the music sounds. So understandably, we don’t waste much time around the studio fretting over what privates our employers and coworkers have. The truth is, women in male dominated fields have to put in more blood and sweat than their male counterparts to achieve the same level of ‘success,’ so they often develop valuable knowledge and perspective that others lack. For me, Cookie stands both as an employer and a mentor, with a pair of ears and decades of experience that exceed any other audio engineer or musician I’ve met. The kind of passion that she radiates is refreshing and inspiring for the rest of us. So, to answer the question ‘what is it like to work for a woman in a male dominated field?’ — it’s an absolute pleasure.

Being an audio engineer or producer is a tough career choice whether you’re a man or

by more men than women to lead audio teams or participate in innovative music strategies around music. I hope their first thought isn’t “she’s a woman, so let’s hire her.” I hope the reason is “she’s the best person for the job.”

After 30 years as an audio engineer, I can count less than one instance where my being a woman was an issue. I shrugged it off and looked forward to the day off for not having to do that session. Since no one else was available

“At the end of the day, what matters is how the music sounds. So understandably, we don’t waste much time around the studio fretting over what privates our employers and coworkers have.” a woman. I coach both sexes in what it takes to survive in the business. You have to excel to succeed. If that means becoming an expert in your field, being able to lead a team, showing up on time or shoving your ego to the side to get along with everyone – that’s what you do.

I don’t often write about being a ‘woman in a man’s industry.’ I’ve always felt that actions speak louder than words. I’ve been called on

that day, he hired me. That fellow never stopped requesting my services after that.

The last 5 years, I’ve taken a strong stand on high resolution audio and pioneered delivery of 5-10 gigabyte album files called DSD (Direct Stream Digital). Neil Young’s people called me prior to releasing Pono. I’m sure they weren’t thinking… “She’s a woman… isn’t there a man around?” They contacted me because I was

outspoken and discussed high resolution audio issues with a base of knowledge.

The good news about being a woman in a field dominated by men is that you’re going to be remembered more easily and singled out. Many men find it refreshing to have a woman’s energy in the studio. If you act like a professional at all times, you’ll be treated that way. In baseball language, when the ball is hit to you, try to catch it… don’t shy away.

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My advice – don’t let ‘gender’ be a trap or excuse. If someone has an issue whether age, gender, race or religion, that’s their problem.

Avoid continually running into brick walls and seek out those who appreciate your skills.

Focus on positive relationships turning into more positive relationships. Drop the negativity and move on.

And ladies, don’t get upset when you’re work is assumed to be by a ‘man.’ Forgive and forget. A few months ago, a popular music publication signed my name as “Mr. Marenco” (not the first time) on a fairly technical article I wrote about using tape in the recording studio.

And how could you blame them? There’s a 95% chance of being right if you say “Mr.” The staff was very apologetic, immediately corrected the online tag…and forever I will live on as Mr. Marenco in the print version of the article. We all had a good laugh over it.

Bottom line…Be sensitive to all those around you regardless of gender. Always be ready to respond when you’re needed. Do good work and you’ll be rewarded.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Cookie Marenco is the founder of Blue Coast Records and OTR Studios. For more information go to http://bluecoastmusic. com/about-the-founder or write to Cookie@bluecoastrecords.com.

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The Importance of Providing Su LGBTQ-Friendly Outlets For Mu

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omoground promotes LGBTQ equality by supporting LGBTQ and allied musicians through our website, podcast, zines and live events. The project launched in 2011 to combine a love for music with activism. At the time, I found myself listening to

the same bands I was listening to a decade ago.

There had to be fresh, new music out there that I could relate with but I didn’t know where to look.

I started featuring music my friends were making on the podcast. After a couple episodes, people I didn’t know started contacting me asking if I

“We seek to promote groups and projects that are advancing social change.”

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could feature their bands. The podcast fills a void by giving bands a way to get their music out to an audience that can relate to their experiences while feeling welcomed and safe.

Bands express their biggest challenges to us. They experience the same challenges as any other band: scheduling rehearsals, finding/ keeping band members, getting exposure, not having enough time or money to pursue creative passions, mental health and traumatic life events.

They also struggle with questions like: What is my gender/sexuality? How do I identify? Do I feel comfortable enough being out about my sexuality? Are people going to judge or hurt me because of who I am? Or how I look? What

g Supportive Musicians

SPECIAL ISSUE pronouns should I use, if any, when I sing about romance? How will the vocals in my songs change during/after my transition to another gender?

Homoground is more than just music promotion. We’re about strengthening our communities, creating visibility and promoting equality. We seek to promote groups and projects that are advancing social change. Over the years, many rock camps have popped up in cities all over the planet empowering young girls and queer youth to play instruments in an environment where they won’t feel judged. Queer rock camps exist in places in the US like the Pacific Northwest, Southern California, and the South.

Music connects people with others who can understand similar struggles, victories, and emotions. Homoground provides ways for music lovers, especially those living in more isolated areas, to discover and access music they might otherwise

never be exposed to. Recently, I received a message from someone living on a remote island off of Alaska saying that living on their island is very isolating, but the Homoground podcast helps them feel more connected. The podcast is able to provide a sense of community that otherwise doesn’t exist in reality.

GET YOUR MUSIC FEATURED ON HOMOGROUND Submit your music through the following link for consideration: www.homoground.com/submissions ABOUT THE AUTHOR Lynn Casper organizes the Homoground podcast, and in 2012 launched a set of feminist playing cards via Kickstarter. To discover music by queer & allied musicians, visit homoground.com. Subscribe to the Homoground podcast on iTunes at homoground.com/iTunes.

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photography by Shervin Lainez 24 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

SPECIAL ISSUE How Rachael Sage Owns Her Role as Music Producer in the Face of Sexism

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ne of the things I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is why I often feel so hyper-driven to “prove” myself in so many different realms, as a member of the Music Industry – in addition to simply “being an artist.”

I think at the heart of most of my careerchoices, since I was a very young girl, has been a distinct sense that I was never expected to deliver quite as much as my male counterparts, whether as a musician, a producer, or a businesssavvy individual.

I have an early memory of being told by a fellow student in a high school electronic music class that I was probably never going to be as good a keyboard player as I could be a pianist because “women just aren’t as technically inclined as men”…the implication being that somehow, because of my gender I was not apt to be as innovative or edgy in my sonic sensibilities as I might be “sensitive,” as a girl. From that moment, I became very

attuned to both sound/sonics and my natural love of melody and performance, almost as a rebellion against that assertion. Later that year when I took the stage at a talent show – and won – playing my self-programmed Jupiter 8 alongside several drum-machines and sequencers, it was partly an act of protest; I didn’t want to just be “the girl at the piano.”

Production has always been such a haven for me, of self-expression and empowerment.

From my early teens, I fancied myself a producer, demoing hundreds of songs on my four-track, and eventually, landing some “production deals” by virtue of my home-grown recordings. Slowly, I learned that most producers I encountered – at least at that stage – had an almost predictable set of preconceptions about what I, as a female artist, might not comprehend adequately about my own music and creative vision. I learned very quickly to distinguish between a producer who actually valued my ideas and was positively nurturing, vs. the more common character who saw an

opportunity to manipulate me into emulating something more commercial or at worst, generic.

If there was resistance, the default was often, “trust me – you’re a very attractive, talented young lady, but I know what I’m doing…” as though because I was “cute” I couldn’t possibly know what I wanted my music to sound like! In moments like that, my inner-fire to self-produce, or seek out more respectful, open-minded collaborators was fueled. Incidentally, not once in over a decade of recording hundreds of songs did I encounter one female producer or engineer, in my teens or twenties. Kind of incredible!

Of course, a lot of this paradigm has shifted, as social norms across the board have evolved and women have become more accepted – and proactive – about entering positions in production and engineering. Women like Linda Perry have served as beacons to artists like myself, even as I wish gender simply didn’t enter the equation of music-making, period.

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‘‘I didn’t want to just be the girl at the piano.’’

Over the years, I’ve been wildly fortunate to have surrounded myself with wonderfully talented, open-minded and supportive teammembers both in the recording studio and at my label, MPress, so I am very, very lucky and cherish these relationships with diverse artists and peers who “get” and support my artistry. And yet, strange attitudes and behaviors still persist when it comes to the specific area of studio production, I find.

Often I’ll invite session players to work on a track and even the most loving, amenable and otherwise “progressive” male player will have an automatic tendency to bypass eye-contact with me when another male (i.e. engineer) is present, turn to them continually to ask for their opinion even though I’ve already made a solid suggestion or given feedback, and generally assume I’m 26 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

really more of the “artist” even though they know I am producing. It can feel like a men’sclub, even though in another context like a live band rehearsal I would receive a very different type of energy. In such situations, of course I’m naturally upbeat and do my best to maintain the focus of simple trying to create the best possible recording that serves the material; but I do notice the behavior, and on the up-side, it can bolster my determination and push me to be more articulate and communicate more directly.

All in all, every day I believe there are always opportunities to “show by doing,” and to just forge ahead even when you get a no, or meet with opposition based on subtle or not-so-subtle stereotypes of what qualities are “more male or female” in the music industry. The long-held “men are logical and women are emotional”

stereotype surfaces in myriad ways but it’s just something that encourages me to refine all aspects of my roles both as a creative artist and a producer/label owner, and to become as empowered a version of myself as possible.

When I encounter other young musical women or LGBT/minority youth who seek creative mentorship in whatever form, I always remember how inspiring it was for me to have access, however briefly, to the handful of amazing indie/DIY individuals early in my career – from Ani DiFranco to Sarah McLachlan to Susan Blond – who sparked something in me. I do my best to try to help them turn keys of natural passion and aptitude and help open doors. I would be such a different person without the strong female characters I’ve encountered whether via music industry groups like Women In Music,

SPECIAL ISSUE Indiegrrl and GoGirlsMusic, or more personal peer-relationships with artists like Judy Collins and my musical partner/violinist, Kelly Halloran.

Last week I attended a benefit hosted

by Cyndi Lauper, who is a doing great work one behalf of LGBT homeless youth. She is a perfect example of someone who effects change not just be “being herself,” but by using her platform to encourage others to do the same. Inspiration is everywhere, and obstacles are only as great as you let them be. I’m so grateful I had a mom who always told me that even if I had to work twice as hard because I was a women, all my goals were always within reach because thankfully I was willing and able to work harder. She instilled in me a sense that being part of any particular group striving for justice (in my case: Jewish, female, bisexual)

necessarily arms you to be more sensitive to others – and I love that philosophy!

All the artists on my label are advocates for causes in which they believe passionately, and I really do think the challenges we face early in life help distill each of us into exactly who we want to be and what energy we want to project into the world, as members of our communities.

I hope that I’m some sort of uplifting example, somehow, to other female artist/producers, and that one day soon, it won’t be remotely surprising to see a woman at the console, or any other “desk,” in whatever capacity!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Rachael Sage is a soulful vocalist, innovative multi-instrumentalist, singer/ songwriter and producer. Rachael Sage has

become one of the busiest touring artists in independent music, performing worldwide with her band The Sequins. Sage has shared stages with Sarah McLachlan, A Great Big World, Colin Hay, Shawn Colvin, Marc Cohn, The Animals and Ani DiFranco. She has performed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and received numerous songwriting awards including The John Lennon Songwriting Contest (Grand Prize) and several Independent Music Awards. Her songs have appeared on MTV, HBO, the Fame soundtrack, and in the current season of Lifetime’s top reality series, Dance Moms. MPress Records recently released Sage’s latest fulllength album, “Blue Roses,” which features members of Daft Punk, Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen’s bands, and a duet with Judy Collins. For more, visit www.rachaelsage.com.

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ERADICATING RACIAL DIVIDES THROUGH THE POWER OF DISCO 28 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

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oe Carmichael, who is better known as the illustrious DJ Saucy Lady, possesses an array of traits that makes her quite the memorable musician. She is taut, she is blazing, she is assured. Her debut album Diversify is soulful yet ambivalently sexy; it is dressed in disco strings from top to bottom yet somehow remains emotionally explicit where it counts. Carmichael also loves sewing the seeds of reinvention. Not only is she a singer/songwriter, but she has recently amassed the role of producer and even started her own label through Audio Chemists. Saucy has traveled the world and collaborated with countless artists in order to cultivate a better sound. She briefly describes to Performer the power of music and how her favorite genre worked to eradicate racial divides and inevitably unite us all: “Throughout my travels and being of mixed heritage--I’m Japanese and American--I’ve seen

funk and disco being loved and embraced around the globe. It defies racial and cultural boundaries, which is one of the things I love about it. It’s about being one nation under a groove – and that’s how all music should be. Genres should not cater to only certain types of people and our musical predecessors have often tried to help achieve that.

Rick James created a whole new crossover genre of punk-funk that catered to not only black folks but to white people and beyond. Disco has had such a heavy influence worldwide since the ’60s and ’70s and became popularized in Japan by artists such as Tatsuro Yamashita, Yoshida Minako, Yasuko Agawa, and Kimiko Kasai to name a few. When disco proliferated in gay clubs it helped to destigmatize traditional gender roles. I’m excited to be a part of what we call the “Modern Funk” movement now and our current generation has its own take on the genre. We offer a new creative twist.”

-As told to Candace McDuffie

“[Disco] defies racial and cultural boundaries, which is one of the things I love about it.”

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Drew Bandy

NO GRRRLS ALLOW MISOGYNY IN THE METAL SCENE

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Kira Clark is the vocalist and guitarist for the Portland band Muscle and Marrow—a heavy, experimental, art rock band who mainly perform with metal bands and who are heavily entrenched in the metal scene. Clark says she has experienced persistent sexism within the metal scene since the band started out three years ago.

“There is just this masculine energy blanketing everything in heavy music,” she says.

“I am consistently forced to inhabit my gender

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W

hen I decided to start a band in Portland, Oregon, I took for granted that I would find the open-minded, queer friendly feminists I was looking for. I had no doubt that the birthplace of Riot Grrrl would have a place for a queer, female drummer like myself. What I found, though, was that the legacy of the progressive, liberal, open-minded Pacific Northwest was more of a vague narrative that people attached themselves to in an empty, half-hearted way, without any real intention or

“Being a female musician in Portland can still feel like trying to join a boy’s club, if not treading on hostile territory.” conviction. Being a female musician in Portland can still feel like trying to join a boy’s club, if not treading on hostile territory.

Despite Portland’s progressive reputation and being home to all kinds of female and genderqueer musicians, men widely avoid making space for them in the music industry. One place in particular where men unapologetically dominate is within Portland’s metal scene.

in a conscious way. My gender is a spectacle.”

Clark, 29, speaks candidly about the many faces of sexism at metal shows. Sometimes it is hateful and overt. Other times it is less obvious, cloaked as advice from naïve male friends who mean well but who are unwilling to make the effort to understand just how pervasive the problem is. There are very few who openly stand with women or help to create an inclusive space for all musicians.

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Aaron Sharpsteen

The most common kind of sexism Clark experiences is also the most blatant. At shows where her band is performing, Clark is often asked by security to leave the green room or the backstage area, because it is reserved for band members only.

“Some version of this happens implicitly

and explicitly to me all the time. All the time,” she says. “I can’t speak enough about this, how small it makes me feel, how I’m told over and over that this space does not belong to me, that I have to prove myself again and again.”

Another time, a guy who was working sound at her show, messaged Clark on

“Apathy about sexism is just another way of being dismissive and exclusionary toward women.”

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Facebook afterwards to call her a “spoiled bitch,” because, as she puts it, she asserted her needs in regards to her vocals. In a covert way, his actions illustrate an all too common resentment of women who ask for the same kind of consideration that men are automatically afforded.

Women are often fetishized and considered tokens rather than as serious musicians. This is evidenced by the way “female-driven” bands are considered their own genre and are relegated as niche.

Clark describes a time when her band was discussed in this way: “We had a particularly upsetting review where the introductory sentence was something like, It’s become quite

SPECIAL ISSUE a trend for women to front dark bands…and then proceeded to compare us to bluesy bands that have absolutely nothing in common with us, other than the fact that they are led by a female…We are over half the population. To imply that having a female in a band is a trend is inexcusable.”

Whether it is expressed as aggressive name-calling or as a subtle dismissal of the scope of female capability, experiencing this kind of gender bias is like having a rug pulled out from under you. It feels intensely personal, and there are very few men who are true allies or who will have our backs.

Apathy about sexism from our male friends can feel like a whole other kind

of betrayal. Clark says that when she has spoken with men about her feelings of exclusion, they dismiss it and just tell her to care less, to “give less of a fuck.” There are the men who, in private conversation, are all for equality, but who do nothing to stand with women publically or call out sexism when they witness it. Whether it’s insensitivity or an unwillingness to make waves, apathy about sexism is just another way of being dismissive and exclusionary toward women.

So much of what Clark describes about her experience as a female musician in Portland resonates with me, and with so many other female musicians I know. There are so many ways in which we are told we don’t belong and

that we are not valued. We’re shown by how we’re spoken to and written about, how we have to prove we can even be musicians, and how seldom we are taken seriously. “It is said over and over to me and other women,” Clark says, “that there is a limited space allotted for women to make art, whereas there can be thousands of bands with men who all sound similar and that’s okay because the space is much, much larger for them.”

I look forward to a time when the space for women’s art is not only provided happily, but automatically.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Elisabeth Wilson is a writer and musician living in Portland, OR. PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 33

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B

lack music is the soundtrack of not just Black American history, but of America as a whole. It details both our struggles and our victories as sewed into the American tapestry.

From the coded language of “Negro” spirituals, encouraging us in our darkest hours to strive and survive, to the celebratory and lush big band jams of Duke Ellington and Lionel Hampton. Continuing on to the massive pop sounds of Motown and James Brown’s anthemic Black Power Chant, “Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud.”

Marvin Gaye added to this, celebrating love while championing social justice on his best album What’s Going On, while the next generation birthed hip-hop and continued the tradition of voicing Black struggle with songs like “The Message,” NWA’s “Fuck tha Police”

and the entirety of the Public Enemy’s catalog.

Black artists invented most of what is considered America’s original musical art forms, blues, rock n roll, jazz, funk, and hip-hop. We birthed the first guitar heroes, Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley, while Miles Davis and John Coltrane mastered brass, inventing a new definition of cool.

This is a rich tradition that singer/ songwriter Napoleon Cummings does not take for granted. Cummings, formerly of the a cappella group Naturally 7, is currently embarking on a mini tour of Australia and wrapping up work on a self produced, as of yet titled, EP. When discussing what its like to be a black artists navigating his way through

American History T Black Art, with Nap 34 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

SPECIAL ISSUE the music industry Napoleon states, “The only thing that stands out to me being a black man working in the industry is me not taking for granted the culture I come from. Observing the history, yet still pioneering a new wave into the scene. Knowing that what I was born into as a Black musician is a privilege. So many cultures look to us for music that gets right to their soul. I’ve realized I have to protect that power and that history. Add to it. Take it to more places, own it and stay true to it, dimming out the counterfeits,” he continues.

impact on Black people and culture: “Socially conscious music has been the underlining game changer for the perception of the youth. And one of the dopest contributors to me is Kendrick Lamar. His music in such a short time has transcended the preconceived attitudes about who we are. And in transcending, it also has brought a consciousness to us and has opened up more possibilities to break the perceptions of us that aren’t accurate.”

Cummings speaks to the eroding boundaries that were previously set before Black artists: “A lot more artist [are] stretching and tearing down stereotypes with their image and sound. So I’m grateful to be in the business now, where the limitations on artists are disappearing and the artist has freedom to be.”

He adds, “I thank all the great artists and songwriters who’ve sacrificed and paved the way for me and others like me to play in any ethnic setting I please, and to see places that weren’t possible before.”

NAPOLEON CUMMINGS ON THE WEB: instagram.com/_napoleonworld twitter.com/napoleonsworld soundcloud.com/napoleonsworld

He also addresses the importance of that tradition of socially conscious music and its

Through the Lens of apoleon Cummings T. Ali Eubank

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 35

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Dealing With Racism on the Road & Being the Bigger Person A First-Hand Account of Touring in the Face of Prejudice

M

y teen years were spent listening to bands like Minor Threat, 7 Seconds, The Specials, and Fishbone. I was especially attracted to the band Fishbone for their FUCK RACISM stance and the fact that they were people of color playing music that I could identify with. Young men from Los Angeles playing alternative music that was and still is void of much diversity. It was an exciting time for me to see a band of minorities playing this mix of ska, punk, funk, and everything in between. They made me want to be in a band 36 JANUARY 2016 PERFORMER MAGAZINE

and inspired me to write songs about my own experiences of racism as an Asian American.

In 1989, I started a band called Skankin’ Pickle in a tiny garage in San Jose, California.

We were six friends that included myself as the only minority and a guitarist who was a woman and openly gay, which in 1989 wasn’t the easiest thing to be. We worked hard and were somehow lucky to land a booking agent early on and we somehow were graced with the opportunity to tour around the globe and play our music. It was an exciting time in my life to be able to travel and

courtesy of the author

see the world. I remember touring the South for the first time and realizing shit ain’t like the melting pot of the San Francisco Bay Area.

Memories of playing a show in Baton Rouge, Louisiana where a group of skinheads were dancing and having a good time, but as soon as we started playing a song called “Racist World” the vibe completely changed. From good time drunken skinheads, to pissed off and scary racist skinheads giving me the sieg heil salute. This was around 1990 and to say I was scared is an understatement. The assumption

SPECIAL ISSUE was that they were SHARP (skinheads against racial prejudice), but I was wrong. Thankfully we survived this encounter due to a badass club owner who didn’t tolerate their shit and had them kicked out. There were about seven of them and though we as a band were pretty big guys, skinheads can be pretty friggin

out slope. Was I hearing this correctly? Our trombone player Lars was yelling something at somebody in the crowd and then I heard it again and saw a young man staring me down in front giving me the Nazi salute. A ruckus broke out as people in the crowd saw what was going on and started to beat the living shit out of this guy. I

‘‘To be honest, I think racism is stronger than ever. Subtle racism is still racism.’’” intimidating (especially the women). And they stayed out the parking lot waiting for us afterwards, but again the club owner came to the rescue with a shotgun and a whole lot of crazy of his own. I think he was used to dealing with boneheads.

Years later, Skankin’ Pickle played a show in Tampa, Florida. We were at the peak of our popularity and the show was packed and the energy was high. Sometime during the sweat-filled set, I recall hearing somebody yell

jumped into the crowd and pulled this guy out of the mob, over the barricade and onto the stage.

Can you imagine the look on his face when he saw me trying to help him? Security quickly tossed him out and I never saw him again. I wondered if my actions changed his racist ideas or if it was all done in vain. Violence never solves anything, so I’m glad I did what I did. But at the same time I remember a feeling of sadness that it happened in the first place.

It’s crazy to look back and reflect on these

life-changing experiences. It doesn’t feel that long ago, but these specific incidents occurred over 20 years ago. And where are we now in 2015? Every time I feel like there’s progress being made, you hear about more race tensions and the feeling of hopelessness returns. It’s like taking one step forward and then two steps back. To be honest, I think racism is stronger than ever. Subtle racism is still racism. We form opinions based on the actions of few and stereotypes continue all day long. I’m certainly not perfect either. I’ve caught myself passing judgment on people due to race, religion, gender, sexual preference, but I’m not giving up. This old man will continue to push, learn, engage, and progress towards a brighter future.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Mike Park is a Korean American musician and progressive activist. His musical ventures include Skankin’ Pickle for whom he both played the saxophone and sang, The Chinkees, The Bruce Lee Band, and most recently an acoustic solo project under his own name. After his time with Skankin’ Pickle he went on to found Asian Man Records, a label which he has run out of his garage in California since 1996.

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 37

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CHANGING THE FACE OF SOUND

WOMEN’S AUDIO MISSION Puts More Women Behind The Glass in Recording Studios

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In 2003, Winston started Women’s Audio Mission (WAM), the first nonprofit organization to focus on advancing women in music production and the recording arts. WAM’s mission is to get more women behind the glass in recording studios, behind the board at live concerts, and behind the scenes of records, films, games, and media with low-cost training and education in a professional studio environment. Today, WAM has grown into a world-class training center and the only professional recording studio in the world built and run entirely by women with high-profile clients like GRAMMY-winners Kronos Quartet and Angelique Kidjo, acclaimed author Salman Rushdie, Van-Ahn Vo (NPR’s top 50 albums of 2013), and St. Lawrence String Quartet.

“Being at WAM has helped me achieve my goal to become a sound engineer.”

L

ess than 5% of the people who create the music, sound and media that make up the soundtrack to our lives are women. Let that sink in for a minute.

That means on average every day, less than 5% of the content you hear on the radio, TV, in film, through streaming services, in games, is created by women.

The percentage of women “behind the glass” in recording studios, where many content-based decisions are made, has not increased in more

“Women’s Audio Mission started in a shopping cart. I had a shopping cart full of donated pro audio gear and I would push the cart from classroom to classroom teaching young women and girls about audio and music production,” says Winston. “It’s hard to believe that now we’ve grown to the point where we’re training the largest amount of girls and women in the recording arts, over 1,200 women and girls a year, and 6,000 since we started, and we have an amazing recording studio, where artists like Alanis Morisette, R.E.M., Timbaland and Radiohead have recorded. It’s really incredible, the momentum we’re building.”

For WAM students like Sam Benedetti, WAM’s all-women curriculum and training environment was critical to her education and career. The vast majority of Sam’s classmates at Los Medanos Community College were men and she was often the only woman in her class. She learned about WAM in her Modern Recording Techniques textbook and started taking classes at WAM that semester.

Sam went on to intern at WAM, gaining hands-on experience assisting on sessions with high-profile artists like Kronos Quartet and Pamela Z. She also started mentoring in WAM’s youth program, Girls on the Mic, and found that teaching young girls audio skills boosted her self-confidence.

Winston encouraged Sam to apply for a sixmonth internship at Pixar Animation Studios, which led to her current full-time position on the AV Systems team. “I would have never dreamed that I could work at a major movie studio if it weren’t for WAM. They are the reason I am at Pixar now. Their training, encouragement and belief in me made it all possible!”

WAM provides low/no-cost training to youth

and adults through WAM’s Girls on the Mic program, which trains over 800 underserved San Francisco Bay Area middle school and high school-age girls a year and WAM Core Training, which serves over 350 young women a year.

Kelley Coyne, a former intern at WAM’s studio and now head of the Girls on the Mic program, leads workshops for girls at local schools/ organizations and at WAM’s studio.

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than 30 years. Veteran recording artist, engineer, music producer, and tenured City College of San Francisco professor, Terri Winston, has observed this problem during that time and decided to do something about it.

“It’s amazing to watch girls interact with music technology. At first, they’re really intimidated, but once you demystify technology for them and make it fun and inviting, they jump right in,” Coyne says. “One girl participated in Girls on the Mic last year and was so shy and needed a lot of encouragement to participate. She returned the following year full of confidence and mentored other students, showing them how to use Pro Tools.”

Many Girls on the Mic students return to the program to mentor younger students and some even go on to become interns at WAM’s studio.

WAM has placed over 225 women in jobs in the industry at companies like Dolby Laboratories, Pixar, KQED, NPR, Electronic Arts, SF Jazz, Tracy Chapman, and Comedy Central.

“Being at WAM has helped me achieve my goal to become a sound engineer. The tools they provided for me and the techniques they showed me helped me grow into a well-rounded engineer,” former WAM intern, Alyssa Nevarez says, while sitting at her desk working for Richard Beggs, the Academy Award-winning sound designer for films such as Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Apocalypse Now, where WAM recently placed Nevarez.

“Getting women into innovation and content creation positions is a powerful way to change the messages we receive about women and shift the representation of women in mainstream media,” Winston says. “We believe including women in music technology jobs and in the production process will expand the vision and voice of media and popular culture. It benefits us all.”

WAM ON THE WEB

Facebook: /womensaudiomission Twitter: @womensaudio Instagram: @womensaudiomission Web: www.womensaudiomission.org ABOUT THE AUTHOR Noelle Duncan is a Development and Communications Associate for Women’s Audio Mission. Duncan is also a recording artist, songwriter, and performer and has worked at WAM for four years. Before joining WAM she worked as a marketing professional for nonprofits.

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 39

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TWB: TOURING

T

One Artist’s Journey Navigating the Country’s Highways in a Post-Ferguson America

our Time. My favorite two words to utter, or type, because as a musician, we all dream of getting on the road and knocking down stages in strange places, making new friends and fans, hopefully getting paid, and definitely having stories to tell for ages.

As I’m unpacking from one tour and repacking for another, I get excited at the possibilities involved with late night drives into new cities with a few of my closest homies, Dominic “DJ Organic” Khin-Tay, Mario “SkyBlew” Farrow and Chris “EyeQ” Allen. But it wasn’t until I had finalized the routing had I realized that this could turn out to be one of the more interesting trips, and not for the best reason.

Dom asked me what the tour trail looked like, and I happily read off the list of shows I had booked.

Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, The Carolinas, Virginia….

He stopped me. His next question was a little odd, as his face showed some legit concern.

“Are there any white people riding with us on this tour?”

Driving While Black is a very real thing, and I know it all too well, particularly in the South, which hasn’t been able to shake its racist roots, particularly in the eyes of people who don’t frequent its streets or shake hands with its countrymen. Strangely, DWB and racial relations may be getting worse. After spending five years now as a touring performer, driving up and down America’s highways and byways, I always ran a loose ship, but was lucky enough to have never been arrested, pulled over or received any type of traffic violation or warning.

Until this year.

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A Pew Research Center poll states that 50% of Americans feel like racism is a bigger problem in 2015 than anytime in the last 20 years. Ferguson and its fallout are to blame, and it’s probably the only logical reasoning for the number of stops I’ve faced on the road this year.

In 2015, which isn’t over yet at the time of this article, I’ve been pulled over five times while out on the road, only to be left with a warning each time.

There was February in upstate New York, where I was greeted by the nicest Highway Patrol officer, who commended me on my signaling before lane changing, but pulled me over because I hadn’t given enough time and warning between the signal and the actual lane change.

There was March outside Tulsa, where I was pulled over for driving in the fast lane too long.

There was April in Arkansas, where I was pulled over for… well, you know, I don’t even know why I was pulled over there.

There was North Carolina, where I was pulled over for speeding in an area with no posted speed limit signs.

There was the time in May in Omaha, when I was pulled over for tailgating the car in front of me and not giving the proper amount of space.

There was the time in Missouri when my tour mate was profiled and followed out of a Walmart to the parking lot, leading to us being surrounded by squad cars.

These all sound like legitimate offenses, right? Well here’s the kicker. On none of these times was anyone charged or arrested.

However, on EACH of these occasions, I was 1. asked to step out of the vehicle.

2. asked if I had any weapons or drugs on me.

3. patted down and searched.

And in a new development, something I had

never seen before, in real life or the movies -- in the last few instances, I was: 4. asked to sit inside the officer’s vehicle, in the passenger’s seat, while my paperwork was being processed.

New protocol, perhaps? Not sure. So here I am, in a police vehicle, out of range of my friends (who were attempting to film), and behind the officer’s dashboard camera, if there is one, with nothing but my word against his to detail the events of what could happen next.

Each time I readied myself for the worstcase scenario, and imagined the police officer shoving his state-issued gun into my cheek and reeling off a string of racial epithets in my direction, and telling me that Black lives DON’T matter.

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G WHILE BLACK

Luckily, the extent of the experience in the police car usually was limited to a semidiet-racist line of questioning about what I do, where I’m from, why I’m on THEIR road (there was always a sense of ownership) and how much money one makes from singing rap PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 41

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tunes. One officer even tried to guilt me, by letting me know that he wished he could make a living traveling to new places…instead of say, stopping people from getting to these new places. In each situation, I try to cushion the blow by telling them about my past as a teacher and that I make video game tunes, but if they hear the word rap, it usually gets ugly.

In the sub-genre of hip-hop in which I operate, called nerdcore, most of the

So when Dom got a little hesitant at the thought of four fully grown Black and Brown males driving through the Southern United States, I understood.

I live below the law for the most part. I don’t even steal music…anymore. I have paid for every piece of software I use to make music.

Some people are lucky enough to have

“Driving While Black is a very real thing, and I know it all too well, particularly in the South, which hasn’t been able to shake its racist roots…” artists are white, so it makes me as one of the only Black males, stand out like a sore thumb. It’s what I call the “Reverse Eminem” situation. Whereas Em had to prove himself, being a white kid stepping into a black art form, and learn the craft to become respected, Black nerd rappers are looked at as the standard, and crowned, even prematurely, and very seldom questioned on their credibility or talent level. It’s almost the one place in the world that being Black is awesome.

But I often, as most nerd rappers’ only Black friend, have to let them know when they are out of bounds, and that leads to strange conversations.

Recently, inside a discussion group, a white nerdcore rapper was called out for using the N-word on Facebook, and instead of apologizing and never doing it again, decided he would ask all of his Black friends if they felt that he could say it, and then screenshot the responses. This is what privilege looks like, ladies and gentlemen.

In the same group I argued with a Black rapper about the police, who told me the same thing I always hear when I’m around officers: “Don’t break the law and you’ll be fine.”

Like Walter Scott, pulled over for a routine traffic stop.

Like Eric Garner, who sold cigarettes.

Like Felix Kumi, who was a bystander during an undercover sting operation.

Like Sam Dubose, who drove without a license plate.

All dead.

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never felt the feeling of terror of seeing a police car in their rearview mirror.

Some people are lucky enough to have never been pulled over for doing something that everyone else on the road does, every single day.

Don’t break the law and you’ll be fine.

Unless you’re not.

Pray for us while we’re on the road.

Rest in Peace Sandra Bland.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Self-proclaimed “Teacher/Rapper/ Hero,” Mega Ran returns to the virtual classroom, and this time, it is he who receives the lesson. Ran’s new album RNDM is being described as his most ambitious and introspective yet.

Combining the fun and fantasy of popular records like Forever Famicom, which visited 8- and 16-bit classic games, and Ran’s debut The Call, a socio-political and spiritual look at America through the eyes of a man attempting to find balance in an ever-shifting world, RNDM is a hip-hop album meant to be experienced, not just heard. Guests on the record include famed composer Michiru Yamane, famous for her award-winning soundtrack to Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (Playstation), as well as hip-hop royalty MURS, Joell Ortiz, the enigmatic Kool Keith and Lazerbeak of the Minneapolis collective DOOMTREE. Mega Ran’s new album RNDM is in stores now. Follow on Twitter @MegaRan.

“F

alsely accuse me, they call it blackmail/I have to be twice as good because I’m a black male!”

This has been my credo since I entered the professional world and began trying to establish a career for myself. Music had always been my outlet. My escape from the ills of the world or my canvas to reflect on the state of the ghetto.

Never did I think I would encounter prejudice in the world of music. Music was my sanctuary, my safe haven. Then it happened. To preface, there are stereotypes that rappers are usually not intelligent because they make poor business decisions and lack education. I have defied these stereotypes my whole life.

So, as I began to make noise for myself one the local music scene I quickly discovered a glass ceiling. I would only get so far until I had someone to “represent me.” The fact that I had a

degree in Business Administration and a degree in Human Services Management meant nothing in the world of music. The good ol’ boy network was unable to be penetrated. At the same time, I began networking with other artists, DJs and club owners and started to get more familiar with the “rules” of the game.

When I tried to get radio play on local stations I was either told that my music was too “aggressive” by the conservative stations and it wasn’t “hood” enough by other stations. Then I flipped the script. I began forging a relationship with my current label. We had mutual respect and they saw my vision. In pushing the music forward many doors happened to open once I had “representation.”

The elephant in the room and nobody in the industry will openly admit this, is that in

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Defying Stereotypes & Confronting Industry Prejudice Head-On

addition to them being just as intellectually sound and driven as I, my “representation” does not have as much melanin as I do. With my team it is all love and we are family. We laugh with and at each other, get angry and yell at each other and then apologize like men. We see how the game goes, but we continue to let our music transcend color. That is the essence of UniFi Records. This is US! ABOUT THE AUTHOR SPEAK Easy is a member of the Milwaukee hip-hop group RapLords (picured above), who released the album #RapLords this past November. The 12-track project includes guests such as Skyzoo, Guilty Simpson, Open Mike Eagle, Punchline, Haz Solo, Signif, Vonny Del Fresco, Rusty Ps, J.J. Jabber and Vincent VanGREAT. For more, visit www.unifirecords.com.

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“What’s Your Band Called?”

Why Female Musicians Still Face Incredulity in Live Venues

Mickey Yeh

G

rowing up in a fairly low income, single parent family in Melbourne, Australia, you could say I was your typical rebellious teenager. Thankfully for me, somewhere during my awkward grunge-inspired ensembles and excruciatingly loud bedroom sing-alongs, I started to release my weirdness by playing live music. This was at around age fifteen.

I played every single gig as a paid professional from the start. Braces on my teeth and all for that first lispy year. I started in bands, acoustic duos and once I really harnessed my strengths as a guitarist with some “chops” and timing, I played solo shows. I had three booking agents and I performed in clubs, pubs, restaurants and in a poker machine-filled gaming rooms in suburban Melbourne. Regular venues, five nights a week.

And it was during these years where I found the same strange question being asked again and again: “What’s your band called?”

The reason why I found this to be so strange, funny and insulting all at once, was due to the fact that I walked into these venues alone, brought in all my gear (mics, guitars, speakers etc.) set up and prepared to start performing. OK, let me preface a smidgen by saying, yes, Australians are heavy drinkers. So yes, a lot of the people waiting to hear me perform were full of more than just lemonade.

But it would have taken an ungodly amount of liquor to not see me lug in that huge mound of gear by myself and still ask such an inane question. This was one actual line of dialogue after I set up to perform. I may paraphrase a hair.

Crowd Guy: “What’s your band called?”

Me: “It’s just me. I’m Katie”.

Crowd Guy: “What sort of music do you guys play?”

Me: “I will be playing some Top 40 music from the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s and today.

Crowd Guy: “What time does the band start?”

Me: {I look behind me. No one is there. I look back at him}. “I start in about 15.”

Would I have been asked this if I were a guy? No. Not a chance. I never really got over this assumption and honestly, I’m likely still working through my sexism issues to this day. Stereotyped continually

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SPECIAL ISSUE Priscilla WItte

as the “chick in the band” or just the “singer.” Even though I was the band.

Lennon/McCartney, Stevie Wonder, Aretha and Otis.

Let’s flashback to my musical upbringing. On a scale of 1-10, how musical? It was the singing

So why am I babbling on about my mum instead of discussing my musical songwriting

“I was stereotyped continually as the chick in the band or just the singer.

Even though I WAS the band.” show tunes on the weekend level. My sister and I sang, both parents played piano and my father was a trained classical vocalist. It shouldn’t have been terribly surprising that I wound up being a musician, as well. My parents divorced when I was young, so I turned to music to find solace.

After that, my mother became both a strong musical influence and dominant role model. We may have had store brand food in the cupboard, but we never went without anything. She was also the one who taught me how to truly listen to music. Actually sit down and listen to a whole dang album and then work out whether I liked it. She showed me the importance of musical diversity by introducing me to Janis, Jimi,

know-how? Because before I can accurately do that, you have to understand that she was the one who really taught me how to be, not just an artist, but more importantly, how to lead.

This kind of leadership was what allowed me to learn how to produce my own demos and that lead me to move to Los Angeles then onto Nashville. A sort of ripple effect. The type that would never have come into play if I wasn’t raised the way I was, by a really strong, female role model. A witty cigarettesmoking, tree-lopping, swear-word-on-the-teeshirt wearing lady. That sort of role model.

So when I opted for my very big sea change to

America, I found out that chivalry is alive and well there. Men, for the most part, open doors for women.

Men usually offer to pick up the check at a restaurant.

That sort of thing. Nice, but pretty odd to me. There is a certain level of “I got it” that Australian women exude. By certain level, I mean most Aussie women are pretty tough cookies. There is no “pass” for being a woman, truly. So there was a culture clash when I first moved to the USA. An American man would go grab the check for coffee and laugh when I would reach for my wallet. For me, I was just offering to cover my share as expected (in my mind). Not a huge clash of worlds, but I have had to adjust all the same. I’ve since had some success, toured with Glen Campbell and Smashing Pumpkins. I’ve traveled a lot as an artist.

But every so often I’ll lead my friends into a guitar store and the salesman still gestures to the male in the group and asks, “Do you play?” Look, I don’t have to like it, I just have to work with it. After all I am the band and we need to get along.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Katie Cole is an award winning Australianborn singer and songwriter living in Nashville.

She has performed at festivals like Sundance, NAMM, SXSW and Americanafest and has toured with several big artists including America, Glen Campbell and Smashing Pumpkins. For more, visit www.katiecoleofficial.com.

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 45

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I

A Soundtrack of Black Love ’m a firm believer in the power of music to build and destroy, to inspire and incite, to chronicle and change. Technically, I’ve been making music for most of my life (since I was at least 5 years old) growing up in rural North Carolina surrounded by so much love and Blackness, that I was oblivious to the area’s inherent poverty.

I grew up in a house packed at any given point with nearly 20 people--aunts, uncles, cousins, sister, Momma, and Grandma--and no running water. In the 1980s, in the region of North Carolina called “down east,” the historical residue of sharecropping peppered the working class. Black families were still beholden to white farmers who dangled the carrot of field work, a staple for hirelings stigmatized as ‘unskilled laborers.’

As I grew up and began working in the tobacco fields, the abject poverty around me became more visible. Equally, I began identifying the caregiving of my momma and my six aunts as resilience and strength. I realized how fly and independentyet-selfless they were to raise a motley crew of Black kids (whose fathers were predominantly ghosts) in the boondocks of North Carolina. They committed long hours to the grueling work of tobacco farming and factory assembly lines, and heading to the juke joint on Saturday night to dance off the weight of low-wage, country living.

There was a joint simply and generically called The Store, lined with a few pool tables and a jukebox that remains unrivaled some 20 years

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later. Black men with their front teeth golden lusted after my aunts with a palpable fever, and that jukebox along with a stiff kick of clear moonshine egged them on. My twin sister and I mingled with the other kids while a soundtrack of “Shackles,” and “Outstanding” connected each one of us, no matter our age, in a single pursuit of happiness. I recall sitting atop the jukebox, incubated by its sounds, feeling electrified and, unknowingly, getting free.

Often when we talk about the power of music to affect and inspire change, we oppositionally look to the extremities of the systemic pain inflicted upon us for those examples, neglecting those moments where music simply does what it does best--it offers us license to let loose with coded commands like “get your back up off the wall,” and “got to give it up,” and “tell me something good.” In this sense, music is a common rebellion that slow-releases its necessity over a lifetime of tireless, working days when the realities of injustice can only be silenced by a soundtrack of Black Love.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Shirlette Ammons is a Mt. Olive-native and Durham, NC- based poet and musician who also directs a youth arts program. Her most recent projects include Matching Skin (feat. the John Anonymous EP), a collection of poetry published by Carolina Wren Press and And Lovers Like, a collaborative album with the Dynamite Brothers.

“Music is a common rebellion that slowreleases its necessity over a lifetime of tireless, working days.”

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Tim Walter

PERFORMER MAGAZINE JANUARY 2016 47

FLASHBACK

1923 Okeh “Race Records” Print Ad B

y the early 1920s, Okeh Records had struck gold with hits by AfricanAmerican artists, namely Mamie Smith.

In 1922 they hired Clarence Williams to act as an A&R scout for “negro” or “race” music, as it was referred to at the time, as seen in this print ad from August 1923. Okeh had further prominence in the demographic, as African-American artists such as Sara Martin, Eva Taylor, Shelton Brooks, Esther Bigeou, and Handy’s Orchestra recorded exclusively for the label.

After this initial success, Okeh started a special 8000 series of records devoted exclusively to “race” artists. The further success of this series led Okeh to start recording where the music was actually being performed, known as “remote” or “location” recording. Eventually the label was sold to Columbia, the terms “race music” and “negro music” thankfully fell out of fashion, and now original pressings from Okeh artists are prized in the collector’s market.

For more info, visit www.okeh-records.com.

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A fully weighted, hammer-action 88-key piano, complete with a new custom sound library, including classical and modern pianos as well as favorite electronic keyboards and synths.

Plus, Modulation/FX control provides realistic rotary and vibrato effects on select instruments.

Available exclusively at * The optional Williams ESS1 Essentials pack includes AC power supply, sustain pedal and headphones.

WilliamsPianos.com