Brooke Kushwaha

So, you’re not like other girls.  You listen to alternative music.  Your favorite pastime is hanging out in dirty basements, listening to white guys yell about their love lives and shred their Fender guitars.  Don’t worry, you’re not alone! The DIY (‘do-it-yourself’) music scene has gained considerable traction in the past five to ten years, showcasing young talent at a cheap price.  The makeshift venues and unregulated bars make DIY the millennial’s speakeasy — you often have to know someone to get an invite.  

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Yet you’re beginning to realize these spaces carry a specific energy, one that permeates even the PBR-induced haze.  The DIY scene is unapologetically masculine from the stage to the crowd.  Sure, there might be a token woman once every few bands, and a few guys might have brought their girlfriends, but that doesn’t stop a wall of 6’2” guys from standing right between you and the act while they chuckle about distortion pedals and Brian Wilson.  Or, whatever music bros talk about.

What do you do?  If you play an instrument, you can try to infiltrate from the inside.  A lot of DIY musicians attended liberal arts school, and therefore have some amount of guilt surrounding their lack of diversity.  If you’re lucky, they may include you on their bills, in their bands, and even in on their conversations.  Otherwise, it may be more difficult to break into the boys’ club.  Guys love jamming with their bros, but often don’t know how to extend the camaraderie to their hoes.  It’s not hard to find a guy who will invite you to their show, only to ignore you and then text you afterwards asking if you liked it.  It’s harder to find a guy who will invite you to their jam session, since that’s the music boys’ version of ‘guy time.’  They may be too sensitive to admit it, but many male musicians view their jams the way jocks view their time at Buffalo Wild Wings — for the boys.

Of course, many women who enjoy DIY don’t play instruments.  Young girls aren’t always encouraged to try music growing up.  We all know the trope of guys learning guitar to impress women, but there’s no equivalent for women.  Playing a musical instrument takes time, a ridiculous amount of money, and the right socialization.  Many women who grew up learning classical piano drop it by the time they reach middle school, never learning to transpose their Bach to edgier styles.  Some schools don’t even offer music lessons, leaving women to their own devices.  Girls are also disproportionately shepherded towards singing through activities like theater and choir, and anyone who’s listened to enough DIY knows the genre often sidesteps practiced vocals for gritty, filtered screaming or Morrissey-like moans.

Furthermore, the popular culture surrounding rock music has never depicted women favorably.  Picture a rocker, and you’re probably envisioning an Axl Rose or Steven Tyler type.  Expand the picture, and you’ve got the classic groupie pining after him: a young, obsessive woman.  The caricatures of men and women in music are so ingrained that the term 'female rocker' might as well translate to 'angry feminist.'  Simply put, rock music has always perpetuated a sexist culture where men possess the fame and talent that women seek to associate with, but never possess for themselves.  The DIY scene actively eschews fame by its reeking amateurity, but the power dynamic stays the same. Girls go to shows to see (and sometimes sleep with) the guys, and we’re supposed to be happy if one of the acts happens to have a woman.  What adds insult to injury is the fact that the modern day music boy doesn’t even have the style of classic rockers.  He’s traded bandanas for beanies, ripped jeans for cuffed corduroys, and looks like a cross between a skater and a middle-aged dad.  Not even millennial women have enough daddy issues to excuse that getup.

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The caricatures of men and women in music are so ingrained that the term 'female rocker' might as well translate to 'angry feminist.'

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For non-musician women like me, the ‘groupie’ label at first seems like a fun, self-deprecating joke.  I like to support my (mostly male) music friends and see their shows, and I’d never had any interest in playing music myself.  The term ‘groupie’ does have a sort of back-alley glamour to it, sexist but in like, a vintage way.  Looking deeper, the way women interact with musicians they like is often either infantilized or sexualized.  Sometimes, it’s both.  During my preteen years, Justin Bieber and One Direction both drew masses of crazed girls to their concerts.  ‘Bieber fever’ became yet another excuse to tease young girls about their developing hormones and celebrity idolatry, despite the fact that most of these girls were literal children.  The common knowledge surrounding them was that they didn’t even care about the music and just had a big ol’ crush on Bieber’s floppy hair.  Grow up a few years, and the attitude surrounding women who like music has barely changed.  Compliment a guy on his show, and he’ll likely show up in your DM’s around 1 a.m. asking to ‘hang.’  Women can like things with their brains, people!  There’s no nickname for the dude who picked up guitar to meet women, but the girl who agreed to sleep with him for a myriad of reasons?  She’s a ‘groupie.’  He’s a musician.

There’s no clear solution to sexism in the music scene.  DIY is one hip, emerging example, but all genres have their fair share of injustices.  When Taylor Swift accepts her ‘Record of the Year’ awards and presents some feminist tagline, a team of all-male producers stands behind her.  DIY is just grassroots enough to be malleable; there’s more room for women to fill in the gaps. Women don’t have to turn into world-class musicians in order to be taken seriously at shows;  it could be as simple as respecting women in the spaces they choose to inhabit, even if they’re spectators.

 

Brooke Kushwaha is a rising junior at Wesleyan University.  Her writing can be found on The Wesleyan Argus and on the satire website, The Wesleyan Groundhog.

 

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