< PreviousJOURNAL OF THE IAWM6 MyCareer:FromOfficeClerk to the Stage and Screen VICTORIA FLAWITH It is life experience that we weave into the music we create. The myriad moments, memories, and senses then become the tapestry of sound we are inspired to bring into being. Notes on a page of manuscript, notes played by a piano, notes that we sing—they are vibrations that speak to us with emotion. The stars in the night sky, the silent forest as the snow falls, the roar of the ocean on a rocky shore near my Canadian home—these are the things that have always moved me, inspired me, and made me feel whole. But they also made me question. How could I, so small and insignificant, feel the wonder they engendered in me? Could I transmit my inner life to others with my voice, with the sound of instru- ments in counterpoint to the beating of my heart? Even as a small child, I felt that music was beckoning me, encouraging me to wander through the landscape of its delights: first, music and stories, then musicals, and, eventually, operas. Even though I lost my hearing in one ear at the age of thirteen, I sang in school and church choirs and played flute, piccolo, and trumpet in school bands plus the guitar at home. Music sang in my veins as it embraced me. From Musician to Manager As I grew older, however, I began to lose access to this glorious musical cacophony from time to time. The obligations of school, home, and occupation overpowered me and transmitted a different message to me: that although music is great, I should enjoy it as a member of the audience rather than as a participant. That should be left to the chosen few, many of whom struggle to make a living. As a result, in order to pay my rent and monthly bills, I acquired skills in word processing and data entry, and I spent much of my time organizing paperwork and computer files and answering the phone. The songs I composed for my guitar as a shy teenager were forgotten as I entered the corporate world and began my journey from lowly clerk to supervisor to manager. I worked hard and strove to comply with all the expectations of my employers. I focused on making sure others were happy with my work, but, over time, l became less happy with myself. I eventually had an epiphany, realizing that my desire to create music had languished far too long. Vocal Career I began to study voice. Learning how to sing effectively without fear was a long journey for me. I studied privately with a coach from the local opera company twice a week for five years. I practiced twice daily and visited a répétiteur weekly. I also attended classes at the local uni- versity and conservatory, but I struggled with stage fright. I finally met a vocal coach who assisted me in overcoming the shyness that hampered my desire to perform. It took me eight years to develop my voice (mezzo-soprano) and twelve years to be able to sing without fear. I sang in musicals such as Carousel, Brigadoon, and La Cage aux Folles, as well as in operas such as Carmen, The Magic Flute, Lucia di Lammermoor, and Faust. I finally achieved a dream I had always thought impossible. In addition to performing, I began to teach group voice classes to those who had always wanted to sing but felt too intimidated to try. I found a niche in which vocal technique and my per- sonal experience of shyness came together to assist others to find their hidden voices. I eventually established my own private studio. I also taught workshops such as “Women’s Voices,” “Let’s Sing,” and “Gospel Voices” in Greater Vancouver and on Vancouver Island, British Colombia. The work of helping others to develop their vocal skills gave my life the meaning that it had lacked when I was working in the corporate world. Composing for Television and Film I began to write songs again. I pitched my songs to various artists in the hope that they might record them on their next CD. After receiving some negative feedback from other songwriters and music publishers, I began to under- stand that I had not yet developed sufficient skill to compose songs effec- tively. Rejection is difficult for most artists to deal with, and, although I was often disappointed and even confused by the response to my submissions, I was determined to improve. I had learned how to manage constructive critique from my vocal training. It was only by listening, attempting to under- stand, and practicing that I refined my singing skill over time. I applied this philosophy to the composition of music. I attended a music conference in Los Angeles in the late 2000s, and I was intrigued by what I heard about com- posing instrumental music for film and television. If a television show did not have a composer, they used music provided by music libraries and music publishers to create the score. A music supervisor would determine their needs and look for broadcast-quality instrumental cues that would fit the theme of the show and the emotion of the scene. A music editor would then splice the cues and create the score. The goal of a film/tele- vision composer would be to sign cues to a number of music libraries and pub- lishers in the hope that they would be pitched to appropriate opportunities and then placed in television shows, documentaries, or films. Victoria Flawith7VOLUME 28, NO. 1 • 2022 Thus, the composer would work to create music for specific briefs or antici- pated usage. Each track conveys a single emotion; for example, a meditative-style instrumental cue may be needed for a nature show. It has to be well com- posed and mixed to a level appropriate for immediate use. The composer might create a beautiful, harmonious drone with legato melodic lines and provide one or two places where the music could easily be cut (edit points: most shows do not use an entire cue). The composer must ensure that the cue has a button ending (the last note must land on the tonic, or the cue must have some kind of logical, non-faded closing). What I learned about writing cues at the conference led me on a new path. I began to study how to compose for television and how to effectively use virtual instruments in my composi- tions. I also developed the ability to mix the final work effectively—a bit challenging for someone who is deaf in one ear! After practicing for three years, I finally received my first offer from a music library. Since then, quite a few of my cues have been placed on television shows. 1 I am always interested in learning. I am currently studying cinematic orchestration and film scoring through such entities as Evenant, Cinematic Composing, and Thinkspace. I have scored some short films and anima- tions provided through film scoring compositions or organizations like The Cue Tube. My goal is to continue 1My credits include production music on tele- vision shows such as Chicago P.D., Crimes Gone Viral, Catfish the TV Show, Hunting Hitler, Vice News Tonight, Le Crime Parfait N’Existe Pas, Kassensturz, Auction Kings, Meteorite Men, My Strange Criminal Addiction, Natural Born Monsters, Bad Dog! Invisible Worlds, What You Can’t See, Aspettando Geo, The Secret Life of Chaos, and Secret Service Secrets; plus several episodes each of Snapped Killer Couples, LT Joe Kenda, Homicide Hunter, and I Almost Got Away With It; as well as the television documentary The Bomb. My co-written song, “Lies are in Your Eyes,” has been placed on the popular soap opera The Young & the Restless several times. in this fashion, to learn via courses, feedback, and experience until I am ready to score a longer project. In fact, I have been working on my own film since 2019. I am studying concept art, matte painting, and creation of 3D artworks (Photoshop and Blender) with this endeavor in mind. In all that I do, the journey of growth and understanding, of development and learning, is paramount. I am inspired daily by the natural world around me, by the music of others, and by the stories we tell. I am honored to share my knowledge with those who study singing with me. And I hope my own small voice adds something to the glorious earth symphony around us and in each of us. Looking Back and Looking Forward: Becoming a Composer of Choral Music KATIE KRING When I was invited to write about my career in music as a new IAWM member, I recalled a lyric from the song “I’m Still Here,” from the late Stephen Sondheim’s 1971 musical Follies: “Then you career from career to career.” My musical career thus far could char- itably be described as non-linear, and my oeuvre as eclectic; therefore, I identify strongly with Sondheim’s use of the word “career” as a verb (to move swiftly and in an uncontrolled way in a specified direction) as well as its usual usage as a noun (an occupation). Allow me to explain. Student Years I started composing around age five or six in both the usual way—at the behest of my childhood piano teacher—and in a rather unusual way. My teacher, Marilyn Lowe, had a base- ment filled with Amiga computers, which was unheard of in 1988, and they had remarkably sophisticated composition software for the time. I was not interested in learning to play the piano, but I became quickly addicted to composing. I spent hours before and after my piano lessons filling floppy disk after floppy disk with compositions—some good, some bad, some avant-garde for an elementary school student. Mrs. Lowe expected all of her students to compose and play their own music at special recitals, and she encouraged us to enter competitions, several of which I won. She made sure we had access to the best tools and software as they became available. At var- ious points in my life, I pondered the dearth of women in composition, and I feel strongly that Mrs. Lowe’s influ- ence—making composition accessible, imaginable, and even inevitable—is the reason my career exists. And I am not the only working female composer to have grown up under her influ- ence; the well-known choral composer Susan LaBarr also studied with her. This is not a coincidence. After high school, I had the great fortune to be offered generous scholarships to attend the University of Michigan, and I majored in per- forming arts technology. The program Katie Kring In all that I do, the journey of growth and understanding, of development and learning, is paramount. —VICTORIA FLAWITHJOURNAL OF THE IAWM8 The Theatre While I was at NYU, I started stage managing on the side, working in regional theatre and off-Off Broadway in New York City. After graduation, I spent almost a year at a major regional theatre in the Northeast as a stage manager, administrator, and box office manager, and then two more years as a box office/front of house man- ager at a LORT theatre in the South. My occasional collaborator, J. Oconor Navarro, and I expanded a 20-minute musical we had written at NYU into a full-length piece and had it produced in New York City during that time, but my years working in professional the- atre was the least creatively productive time of my life. The constant stress and drama sucked any desire to create from me, and while one might imagine that being an insider at prestigious theatres, with an emphasis on new works, would have given me special access and opportunities to see my own work performed, the opposite turned out to be the case. It was easier to get one of my shows produced in New York than at the theatre 15 steps from my desk. I decided to quit my job and return to my hometown of Springfield, Missouri. My plan was to start a theatre-staffing business, which, unfortunately, failed immediately. I was unemployed and was looking for work. I started volun- teering a few days a week at a friend’s organic farm, and to earn some money, I started baking and selling cookies at the farmer’s market and elsewhere, and I expanded to selling bread and marshmallows. The president of the market decided that I was breaking the non-existent rules and said that I could not return. The full story is much more complicated and some- what more amusing. When I told Rob Hartmann the details, he suggested that we turn it into a musical. As a result, Farmers Market: The Musical, a story about a girl named Marsha who wants to sell her marshmallows at the farmers market, only to run afoul of the dastardly Mr. Buffalo and his cronies, was born. We wrote it, recorded the demos, recruited a cast of at least 30% actual farmers, rehearsed it, and performed the first reading for a few hundred people in Springfield within sixteen days. The musical also had performances elsewhere. We continued to collaborate, and one of our most interesting commissions was from a high school in Spokane, Washington, in 2015, to write a musical for their Advanced Musical Theatre Class. We called the show Kelly the Destroyer versus the Springfield Cobras. It was inspired by the Great Cobra Scare of 1953, when a dozen or so loose Indian cobras terrorized my hometown for months. Our produc- tion was both a thriller and a comedy, which included the true story of how some men hunted cobras from a truck while playing snake-charmer music. The students and audience loved it. Leaving New York could have been a disaster, but Rob and I have had great fun working together in the hin- terlands. Our next show will be a gothic horror opera called Sweet Louisa, set in a small town on Lake Superior where Rob’s ancestors lived. Choral Music I have been back in Springfield, Missouri for twelve years now, and one of the best things I did upon returning was to join a choir, the Springfield Chamber Chorus (SCC), a volunteer, semi-profes- sional, a cappella choir, which includes many music teachers. For a number of years, I have been the de facto (and sometimes official) composer-in-resi- dence, and I have had the opportunity of having a number of my pieces premiered by this excellent group. provided training in almost every skill I have drawn upon for the past 20-odd years of my career: music theory, his- tory, voice lessons, composition (both traditional and electronic), sound recording, synthesis, photoshop, filmmaking, studio art, technical the- atre, computer-assisted choreography, computer programming, and a whole wealth of collaborative art-making opportunities that melded digital music, live performance, visual art, and dance. In the Digital Music Ensemble, under the direction of Dr. Stephen Rush, we had challenging projects such as creating an interactive, contemplative music-and-floating lanterns installa- tion in commemoration of the 9/11 attacks, which occurred a few weeks into the semester, and a multimedia presentation of Alice in Wonderland. Under his tutelage we learned not to allow our imaginations to be limited by the bounds of physical reality, and that philosophy has remained with me ever since. I had many other amazing opportunities as a composer at Michigan, such as studying with William Bolcom, spending a year as the composer-in-residence for University Productions, and even having the chance to create a ret- rospective bio-play with and about Arthur Miller. I enrolled in the Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program at New York University and spent two years immersed in showtunes in all their myriad forms. One of the major career skills I took away from the program was an ability to create a good work very, very quickly (writers often have to compose a new song overnight). Another major career skill was learning the art of taking criticism well, which involves varying amounts of taking nothing person- ally, divining what people mean from what they say, ignoring the unhelpful, and trusting your gut feeling. NYU also introduced me to someone who has been an important part of my life for the past 15 years—my advisor and current collaborator and friend, Rob Hartmann. One of the major career skills I took away from the program was an ability to create a good work very, very quickly (writers often have to compose a new song overnight). —KATIE KRING9VOLUME 28, NO. 1 • 2022 Through SCC, I met the South African conductor Dr. Gerrit Scheepers, who has become a good friend. He com- missioned my choral piece, At The Hour of Closing, which was premiered in Pretoria, South Africa in 2018, and I was delighted to be able to attend. The work went on to win the 2019 MCDA Opus Award. The award is pre- sented annually by the Missouri Choral Director’s Association “for an out- standing original choral composition… that exemplifies the highest standards of choral music composition.” The commission is a good example of the importance of networking, which requires a lifetime of building relation- ships with other artists who support each other. No matter your age or stage of your career, building friendships and supportive relationships with composers, conductors, performers, and administrators is the best thing you can do to make progress. I have been much more successful by being active in artistic communities than in submitting proposals for compe- titions. Rob Hartmann and I, both together and individually, have had every musical we have ever written— which collectively numbers almost 20—performed somewhere, which is very unusual for musical theatre composers. We do not wait for an invi- tation. We use our networks to find a place for our work, and then we write it for that particular theatre. And that is also my approach when I work alone as a choral composer. Springfield Street Choir Becoming a choral composer has changed my life in one other unex- pected way. In 2019, the American Choral Directors Association (ACDA had a composers’ fair at their national conference in Kansas City, just three hours north of where I live. Exhibiting at the fair was worthwhile, but it was a session the next day that was so influential. The presenter was Jonathan Palant, director of the Dallas [Texas] Street Choir, a choir for homeless and indigent people. I had been loosely involved with a grassroots homeless outreach program prior to this. I also had a few homeless friends and was reasonably well-versed in homeless issues, but I mostly helped as a baker, sending unsold bread and baked goods to the homeless community. I had never heard of a street choir before, but when I saw the transforma- tional power of music and the sense of community and love that morning, I was astonished and impressed in ways that I still can’t completely describe. At the next Springfield Chamber Chorus board meeting, I declared that we should start a street choir of our own, which made good sense for a lot of reasons. The board was reluctant but finally agreed, and I was named conductor. I am not very well coordinated, and one skill I never mastered in school was conducting; however, a friend who was a talented conductor, Kenny Kabak, expressed interest in the project and together with Christie Love, a remarkable local pastor, and a number of other passionate people, we brought the Springfield Street Choir into being in October of 2019. At the first rehearsal, the choir had 17 hesi- tant, nervous people who sang for an hour in exchange for two dollars or two bus passes. The next week it was 23. The following week it was 28, and in a few months, we were rehearsing with 90 people and had to lock the doors. We had some truly remarkable expe- riences with the choir—singing on the regionally-syndicated comedy show called The Mystery Hour, hosting a Christmas Eve community carol-sing, and numerous smaller but beautiful performances. But the pinnacle was a performance at the Springfield Art Museum in January of 2020. By show- time, an unexpectedly large audience had arrived—more than 400 people squeezed into the small room. It was standing room only, shoulder to shoulder, with the choir shoehorned into a corner to sing. And did they ever sing! The crowd wept and cheered, and to this day, just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. When I drove the bus to the men’s shelter after- wards, the ovation they received was all they could talk about. I had submitted a proposal to the ACDA hoping to get a commission for a work about homeless people. I did not get the commission, but I composed Forgotten Voices anyway, with texts derived from interviews with the many homeless people I am honored to call my friends. It was premiered at the Missouri Choral Directors Association conference in July 2021, to a masked, socially-distanced, but sold-out audi- ence. And of everything I have ever written, this is the work of which I am most proud. Because the audience cheered, yes; and because the choir’s performance was perfect, yes. But I am proud mostly because of the joy and sense of self-worth it gave to the homeless people, which, in turn, gave special meaning to the composition. Springfield Street ChoirJOURNAL OF THE IAWM10 The Challenges of Being a Female Percussionist: A Brief Look at My Story MCKENZIE SQUIRES What is it like to be a woman in percus- sion? That is a complicated question for me to attempt to answer. I love what I do and would not trade a moment of it. With that said, it isn’t easy to be a woman in a male-dominated industry. Today, there are more prominent, female-identifying percussionists than ever before, so why do I sometimes feel isolated and alone within this field of music? Looking back in time might provide some clues. When I was in fifth grade, I became serious about playing the drum set and asked my parents for lessons from a local music school. They agreed and were happy to give me an outlet so that I would stop drumming around the house. When I was in sixth grade, I was ready to join the percussion section of the school band, but the director had other ideas. Thankfully, I could not get a sound out of any of the wind instruments, so she had to let me be a percussionist. That is the first time I faced pushback from someone of authority—someone telling me that I could not be a percussionist because of my gender. I vividly recall the teach- er’s comment that women were meant to play woodwinds in a band but not brass or percussion. She retired the next year, and a new band director took her place. Although he never suggested that I should not play drums, he always seemed to treat me differently from the male percus- sionists. I later learned that he and many others believe women should play mallets and men should play drums. Regardless, I am glad that he challenged and encouraged me, and I made All County every year of middle school and All District in my eighth- grade year. This was the first major accomplishment that taught me how to work hard. In high school, I experienced more stereotypes about women in percus- sion. “You have to play like a man.” “You can’t march tenors.” 1 “You have to be in the front ensemble playing mallet instruments.” 2 These were just a few of the many comments I heard throughout the years I was in marching band. I fought every stereotype, and I taught myself to march cymbals, bass drum, and tenors. I also taught myself how to play concert snare and timpani, despite the comments from authority figures that I should “stick to mallets.” I had difficulty discussing my internal struggle with other musicians as I tried to find my place in the music world as a female percussionist tran- sitioning into college. That changed in 2018 when I attended my first 1Tenors are usually five to six drums that are carried by one performer. 2Front ensemble refers to the percussion section that is usually seen at the front of the marching band. It almost always has keyboard instruments (marimbas, xylophones, vibra- phones) as well as accessory instruments such as bells, cymbals, etc. Percussive Arts Society’s International Convention (PASIC). The Percussive Arts Society (PAS) is a wonderful orga- nization that promotes percussionists of all types from around the world. 3 Particularly impressive at PASIC18 were the women who played drum sets, such as Emmanuelle Caplette and Sarah Thawer. The Convention gave me the unusual opportunity of seeing a woman performing a solo drum set and giving a masterclass on the instru- ment. The feeling of positivity and acceptance that I felt during that week was amazing and like nothing else I had experienced. I believed I could continue in the field regardless of my gender. As a result, I began to study with Dr. Diana Loomer, my first and only female teacher, and the lessons included learning to play double seconds (a type of steel pan). She explained the history and creation of the instrument in Trinidad and Tobago, and she said that women were not allowed to play pans, but, neverthe- less, the women found their way into the steel yards. 4 Dr. Loomer also introduced melodic timpani playing. She has been working on the Melodic Timpani Project 5 since her time in graduate school, and she actively commissions new works that feature melodic lines for the tim- pani. On her website, she explains: “The mechanics of timpani pedals have greatly improved over the years, and we now have the opportunity to use the timpani voice in a much more active way.” In addition to expanding the repertoire for the instrument, this kind of timpani playing is also slowly changing the perception of who can play timpani. 3PASIC is the international convention hosted by PAS every year in Indianapolis, Indiana. More information can be found at www.pasic.org or www.pas.org/about/about-pas. 4Double Seconds are a mid- to high-voiced pan instrument found in steel bands. They, like all steel pans, originated through the slave trade, colonialism, and politics from the late 1700s to their creation in the 20th century. A steel yard is the term used to designate the place where steel bands rehearse. 5More about this project and the individual works can be found at www.dianaloomer.com/melodictimpaniproject. McKenzie Squires (photo by Eldred Spell) I fought every stereotype, and I taught myself to march cymbals, bass drum, and tenors. I also taught myself how to play concert snare and timpani, despite the comments from authority figures that I should “stick to mallets.“ —MCKENZIE SQUIRES11VOLUME 28, NO. 1 • 2022 During one lesson, I mentioned a problem I was having playing crash cymbals; I could not choke cymbals the way I had been taught because of the shape and size of my chest and arms. Dr. Loomer mentioned a similar conversation and a possible solution she heard from a group she belonged to on Facebook. She introduced me to the Women/Womxn Percussionists Facebook group. This group has deeply changed my perception of who can play percussion and what is possible. The group discusses topics such as physicality, what is or isn’t idiom- atic to an instrument, new music by minorities, and the struggles that we are all facing because of our gender presentation and/or body type. These conversations became especially important when the lockdown started in early 2020. One of my favorite female percus- sionists is Maria Finkelmeier. 6 I am especially interested in a project that she and her team are working on called “Threads of Assumption,” 7 an ongoing, interactive performance installation. “Threads of Assumption” took the data from twenty-two recorded conversations that were analyzed for emotional content and thematic languages. These were transformed via AI into datasets that were realized in different art mediums inspired by the space where the installation was presented. It premiered at the Goethe Institute in June of 2021. I participated in two of the twenty-two conversations that were used to create this project. The conversations that were sparked within this project, as well as those on the Facebook post, were not surprising, and hearing female per- cussionists who have had similar experiences brought me a kind of solace. 6She is the founder of mf dynamics and is known for her large-scale, multimedia events in public spaces. 7More information on Threads of Assumption can be found at www.mfdynamics.com/threads-of-assumption. The description on the website reads: “The project asks us to reconsider our assumptions surrounding bias and what we accept as normal.” In closing, I want to thank Dr. Adam Groh, who was my primary teacher during my four years at Western Carolina University, not only for his excellent instruction but also for the conversations he had with the percus- sionists about identity and humanity. He was aware that those topics would influence our future as musicians. I am also very appreciative of the women who have been and continue to be helpful: Diana Loomer, who actively encourages me to defy stereotypes and play whatever instruments I wish; Shelby Blezinger-McCay, a member of Troika Percussion, who demonstrates how successful a woman can be within the percussion industry in New York City; Maria Finkelmeier, who dreams and creates big, loud projects that cannot be ignored; and the countless female-identifying composers such as Caroline Shaw and Emma O’Halloran. Most important, however, is my former teacher at Western Carolina University, Dr. Christina Reitz. She taught the his- tory of music through a lens that was not white-male oriented, she presented me with opportunities to reflect on what is important, when and how to push back, and how to express myself, and she continues to provide words of encouragement. I am now pursuing a master’s degree in percussion at New York University, where I am an adjunct percussion instructor as well as a teacher via Zoom to percussionists from around the U.S. I am also a founding member of the Folx Percussion Duo and the Kicking Pigeons percussion group at NYU. As an intern for Sō Percussion, a percus- sion-based music organization that creates and presents new collaborative works, I am learning how to manage, run, and perform with a percussion group. Do I still face challenges? Yes. The difference now compared to a few years ago is that I am also seeing the success of those who are like me every day. My aim is to make the path easier for other women musicians and to fight to create my own success in music no matter what the challenges may be. Journal of the IAWM Welcome to your new Journal with its more spacious and col- orful page layout. We hope you enjoy reading it. We thank Cheetah Graphics, Inc. for the overall design and Bauer Graphics for the design of the front cover. A flip version is available on the IAWM website. McKenzie Squires playing percussionJOURNAL OF THE IAWM12 CoroDelantal: Celebrating Ten Years of Vocal Experimentation SONIA MEGÍAS I had the good fortune to be born in the village of Almansa, Spain, in the Southeastern region of the Iberian Peninsula, where music was an important part of our social life. When I was a teenager, I became interested in conducting and learning how to compose and arrange choral music. In 2003, at age twenty-one, I received my first choral commission for Al espacio con música (Music in Outer Space), a cantata for narrator, solo- ists, children’s chorus, and chamber group. My interest in choral music continued to increase, and a few years later, in 2006, I established and directed a vocal ensemble workshop in Madrid called VocesBravasLab. It was an experimental group, and the singers did not have to know how to read music. I gained a great deal of experi- ence as well as pleasure from working with the ensemble, but in 2010, when I was awarded a Fulbright Fellowship to study at New York University, the group disbanded. While I was living in New York City, I found it hard to meet people and make friends, and I was surprised at the pro- fessional competitiveness among my classmates and colleagues. I therefore decided that one way to bring people together in friendship would be to establish a new vocal experimental group that would meet weekly with the same goal in mind: singing together. I called the ensemble CoroDelantal (apron chorus). Our unusual name and our costumes—aprons—require an explanation. Masks have a special purpose in other cultures; for example, in African rituals, masks can have the power of controlling good or evil, and in ancient Greek dramas, sym- bolic masks were used in both their tragedies and comedies. I believe that an apron, like a mask, can have sym- bolic power, but I decided to use it as a body mask and not as a face mask. I began to believe that the apron had special powers after a couple of cooking experiences that I had in New York state. The first was when I volun- teered to cook a meal for a group of vegans at the Experimental Intermedia Foundation. The apron I wore seemed to give me a sense of power, and the dinner was so successful that I was asked where I had studied cooking. My second experience was cooking potato omelets for a ritual at the home of Pauline Oliveros and IONE in Kingston. I attributed my success once again to the power of the apron. When I invited singers to join CoroDelantal in 2011, some replied: “But I don’t know how to sing or read music,” to which I answered: “Don’t worry, once you put on the apron, you’ll do it!” A smile meant yes. I recruited a dozen singers who lived in New York City but came from different parts of the world, and our group was bilingual (English and Spanish). I told the singers who joined CoroDelantal that they would be able to express themselves through vocal experimentation, and Fig. 1. The Time in a Thread, a functional score by Sonia Megías made from leather, clay, and wood. (Photo: Ela Rabasco)13VOLUME 28, NO. 1 • 2022 that they just needed to be open to new ideas and have the willingness to be creative. I taught them how to read my non-traditional notation, and we exper- imented with improvisation, dancing, and other choreographic movements. Our CoroDelantal membership was, and continues to be, primarily female, but a few brave men sometimes join us. We sing both a cappella and with instrumental accompaniment. We per- form at museums, galleries, and other venues, and we occasionally present a very special kind of event that I called Mono+Graphics; it includes a perfor- mance and an exhibit of my “Rare Scores” that are on display for the audi- ence to see in the gallery. 1 (See Figure 1.) In New York, I also initiated a project for public places that I called Harmonic Procession. Our goal was to harmonize the city and its citizens and create a feeling of togetherness and friendship. We walked down the streets singing and playing a perfect fifth (G and D), an interval that I believe is a symbol of ideal harmonization. To encourage people to think about what it means to be a human being, we gave everyone we met stickers that read: “Did you SMILE today?” “Did you DANCE today?” When I returned to Madrid in 2012, singers from my previous choruses, as well as new performers, gathered to establish a second CoroDelantal. We have been performing in Madrid and in different regions of Spain for a number of years. See the front cover for a photo of our performance in Úbeda, Spain, in a recently-discovered fourteenth-century synagogue that was opened to the public as a museum in 2010. In our various performances, in addition to my own compositions, we have premiered pieces by contem- porary composers such as Pauline Oliveros, Simon Fink, Jesús Torres, Diana Pérez Custodio, and Juan Antonio Lleó, and we have collaborated with artists, dancers (as in our synagogue performance), and designers such as Pepe Gimeno and sculptor Eva Lootz. 1To understand the experimental types of performances that CoroDelantal presents, watch the YouTube videos: https://youtu.be/wCy7Myj-Roc and https://youtu.be/owiOj_d6jGc I now live by the Mediterranean Sea, and the local museum, Museum of Contemporary Art in Alicante (MACA), invited CoroDelantal to be part of their cultural offerings. With new singers, we established our third vocal workshop in October 2021 in our cheerful new home. (See Figure 2.) One of our most recent initiatives was the CoroDelantal choral composing award, sponsored by the IAWM. The winner was Athena Corcoran-Tadd for Lune et l’autre, which we will premiere at MACA on February 27, 2022. CoroDelantal celebrated its tenth anniversary in the fall of 2021, and as we look to the future, we hope to make the apron family grow and expand around the world and create new audiences for contemporary music. Fig. 2. CoroDelantal before a performance at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Alicante. (Photo: by Pepe Gil) In New York, I also initiated a project for public places that I called Harmonic Procession. Our goal was to harmonize the city and its citizens and create a feeling of togetherness and friendship. —SONIA MEGÍAJOURNAL OF THE IAWM14 MUSIC HISTORY dance, poetry, and drama. Musical works were composed for a variety of occasions such as births, wed- dings, deaths, marches, banquets, and drinking parties. Due to popular demand for all music to be newly com- posed for performance at all types of public occasions, there was no reason for previously composed works to be remembered, which, in turn, resulted in the lack of written music during the Archaic and Classical eras. The ear- liest surviving documents date back to the Hellenistic era (323 BCE to 146 BCE). Ancient Greek society was patriarchal; male citizens dominated the social and political scenes, held public office, and owned property. The aristocracy held the highest positions in society while slaves represented the lowest class. Regardless of the huge divide in social status, music functioned as a unifying factor, drawing people from all different social classes to listen to and participate in musical activities. With the exception of city-state Sparta, women in Greece were considered second-class citizens and did not have citizenship rights. They could not own land, inherit, or vote, and they were generally denied a platform in public life to express their views. Their place was in the home where they tended to domestic duties: bringing up children, baking, weaving, and other indoor activities. Respectable women worked outside the home only if they were forced to do so because they were pen- niless, in which case they could work as a cook or sell food products. Such segregation of roles even extended to the privacy of their homes: men’s quar- ters were generally on the ground floor whilst women’s were on the upper floor. In Sparta, however, the laws had been reformed around the ninth century BCE, giving women rights equal to those of men. Spartan women could legally own land and inherit property, and they could freely participate in Sparta’s political and social circles. Their education included singing, playing a musical instrument, writing poetry, and dancing, and they were also required to participate in sports and physical training like men. Women Musicians As evidenced from paintings on vases, pottery, and walls, women in general in Ancient Greece entertained each other by dancing and playing musical instruments in the privacy of their own homes. The main types of instru- ments at the time were strings (lyres and harps), woodwinds (double reed instruments and panpipes), and per- cussion (drums, cymbals, tambourines, and bells). As depicted on various arti- facts, women took charge of religious rites and ceremonies, where they publicly sang, danced, and played musical instruments, and they also participated in religious festivals. Lydia Kakabadse Status of Female Musicians in Ancient Greek Society LYDIA KAKABADSE To mark its 25 th anniversary in 2018, the Hellenic Institute at Royal Holloway University of London commissioned me to write a choral work, Odyssey, to portray a musical journey through centuries of Greek history, literature, and culture. Before starting work on Odyssey, I spent six months researching the history of Greek music, focusing mainly on ancient music. Since last year, I have been studying how female musi- cians were perceived in Ancient Greece. Background Ancient Greece encompasses three main eras—Archaic, Classical, and Hellenistic—spanning from the eighth century BCE to 146 BCE. Archaic music, primarily monophonic, was already a sophisticated art at the time of Homer (born around 750 BCE) and was “consciously removed from the primitive, barbaric or rustic.” 1 As music was such an inherent part of cultural life in Ancient Greece, especially up to the fourth century BCE, it was consid- ered an important subject in school education. The Greek word for music, μουσική (pronounced mou-see-kee), comprised not only music but also 1Isobel Henderson, “Ancient Greek Music,” New Oxford History of Music, ed. Egon Wellesz (London: Oxford University Press, 1966), 376. It was common for aristocrats to host symposia (drinking parties/banquets) for fellow aristocratic men. They were generally held in private houses in the andron (men’s quarters), situated on the ground floor close to the front entrance of a house, and away from the more private quarters; respect- able women were not permitted to attend. Those women who did attend were educated slaves hired to provide musical entertainment. They were known as hetairai, courtesans who “provided sex and music and no doubt conversation.” 2 They were well trained in music and culture, and some also in dancing, and they played the harp and lightweight lyres (such as the chelys and barbitos)as well as the aulos, which was the preferred musical instrument at symposia. 2Martin Robertson, The Art of Vase Painting in Classical Athens (Cambridge University Press, 1992), 27. Ancient Greek panpipes15VOLUME 28, NO. 1 • 2022 The aulos was the most important wind instrument at the time, repre- senting rapid, rhythmic, exciting, and emotional music. Similar to an oboe with a double reed, it consisted of two pipes (not connected); one played the melody and the other functioned as a drone or other moving part. As powerful blowing was required to sound the pipes, the players often tied a leather strap over their mouths; it was tied at the back of their heads, pre- sumably to give extra support and to avoid excessive strain on the cheeks. A female aulos player was known as an aulêtris (plural: aulêtrides). Although the symposium was the main place where the aulêtris played, she also performed at women-only festivals, in private contexts, and accompanying manual repetitive work such as reaping. Where the aulos featured at large events such as weddings, funerals, festivals, and athletic events, it was for the most part played by men. There has been much debate regarding the sound of an aulos; many scholars liken it to an oboe, although T.J. Mathiesen maintains it “sounds nothing like any modern Western musical instrument.” 3 (See the illustrations.) The wine drinking cups used during symposia were generally elaborately painted, often depicting male partici- pants being entertained by an aulêtris. Historic texts and literature, however, have frequently confused the aulê- tris with the ”flute girl”by classifying the aulos as a reeded flute or double flute, despite the flute being reedless. As a result, the aulêtris was commonly referred to as the flute girl. Genuine flutes were common at the time; the syrinx (pan flute or panpipes) was one of the oldest and most popular instruments and was primarily a folk instrument associated with shepherds. Some aulêtrides went on to become famous for their playing, namely, Nanno (sixth century BCE) and Lamia (fourth century BCE). The famous Greek poet, Mimnermus, who wrote elegies accompanied by the aulos for 3T. J. Mathiesen, Apollo’s Lyre: Greek Music Theory in Antiquity and the Middle Ages ll (Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1999), 182–183. performance at symposia, fell in love with Nanno. In his collection of short poems called “Nanno,” his reference to her is commented on by another poet: “And Mimnermus who, after much suffering, discovered the sweet sound and breath given off by the soft pentameter, was on fire for Nanno.” 4 Lamia of Athens started her career as an aulêtris on the stage and went on to become a celebrity but then gave it up for life as a hetairai. During the Archaic and Classical eras, it was customary for crowds of men and women to attend feasts and festivals to honor the gods in the form of song and dance. In respect of the wine god, 4Douglas E. Gerber, Greek Elegiac Poetry (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 75. Dionysus, they would sing a choral song (known as a dithyramb) in his honor. The dithyramb probably originated as a strophic song, but from the sixth to the fourth centuries BCE, it began to develop into a highly dramatic and frenzied art form with the inclusion of an aulêtris playing the accompaniment. The division between the higher and lower classes of music was very evi- dent. The aulos represented the lower class, and it was associated with drinking parties and orgy music sym- bolized by Dionysus. The kithara, a type of lyre used by professional musicians that required a lot of skill, represented the higher class and was associ- ated with the restrained character of Greek music. Oil flask with a picture of a woman playing the aulos, 480 BCENext >