Musica Feminista

[musicafeminista]

Sharing Your Dreams With A Crowd Of Strangers

There are a million and one blog posts out there about crowdsourced funding for musicians, tips, how-tos, dos and don’ts and success stories. But no one ever talks about the emotional toll of a process that can be daunting and can have a serious positive or negative impact on the plans and trajectory of an artist depending on whether or not it succeeds. 

Acacia Sears bravely invites us to witness her personal journey into the world of crowdfunding as her project launches and the outcomes are still unknown. 

People are tired of crowdfunding. From Kickstarters to GoFundMes to Indiegogos and beyond, at least a few times a year (or, depending on your social circle, a few times a month) people are hitting up their friends for cash. Sometimes it’s for medical bills or similar pitfalls, sometimes it’s for a product that needs startup money, sometimes it’s for potato salad. There is no “method” to going viral beyond a lot of hard work and an exponentially larger quantity of luck.

When I started planning for my Kickstarter, I found plenty of this irritation online. I also found a lot of practical advice. But I didn’t see many people talking about the emotional costs. How do you deal with the worry that you’re annoying your friends? How does it feel to know failure is not only possible but easy? I still don’t know the answers -- but I figure that if I write about my own journey with this campaign, other people will know what to expect, and that they’re not alone.

In March of 2014, I left a job I loved because the business wasn’t doing so well, my leaving would allow someone else to keep their job, and I wanted to have more time to spend with my kid (who was 1.5 years old) and work on my music. It was a financial strain for my husband and me; we no longer had to pay daycare, but we were still looking at a bit of stress from losing my income. We figured we would have about a year before things started to be unsustainable.

At the time, I was teaching music classes at my daughter’s daycare twice a week in exchange for two days of childcare. I learned a bunch of standard children’s songs, including “The Wheels on the Bus.” At home, we sang the song often, and the Mommies on the bus and the Daddies on the bus always said “I love you.” At school, the Mommies on the bus said “shh shh shh,” and the Daddies on the bus said “keep the baby quiet!” complete with finger wagging and stern faces.

This floored me. Daddies are just as capable as Mommies of soothing their distressed children, and the whole idea that a Daddy would sternly tell their partner in parenthood to “keep the baby quiet” was upsetting and unfair. I took my outrage to social media, telling the story, and saying “wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote an album of progressive, feminist children’s songs, with titles like ‘Only Yes Means Yes’ and ‘Princesses are for Everyone’ and ‘Wheelchairs are for Wheelies.’”

The response was a resounding “YES YOU SHOULD DO THAT, I WOULD BUY IT.” My friend Josh even replied with “The Mommies on the Bus Say F*** the Patriarchy.”

It had to be done. I would need to change it to “Smash the Patriarchy,” and I would probably need another more accessible, less confrontational title to draw in more people, but it went from a joke to a plan in the span of a few minutes. After much deliberation, I decided to name the project “Yes Means Yes!” and adopted a new children’s music persona named Ms. Cacie (my nickname).

I spent the next year writing the songs. Most of my non-children’s songs are exceedingly personal, poetic, and don’t come to me very frequently. With the Ms. Cacie songs, I was averaging more than one song a month, testing the songs out on the kids at the daycare, and strategizing the eventual launch of my Kickstarter campaign.

You’re probably familiar with Kickstarter (see above, with the campaigns coming out once a month), but just as a reminder: a Kickstarter project does not receive ANY funding unless your minimum goal is reached. Anything past the minimum is gravy, but you must achieve the minimum or else nobody pays anything. This means there’s a lot of pressure to get as much attention as possible, as quickly as possible. If you don’t meet a certain threshold of attention, the entire thing is wasted effort.

But I’m hoping to get paid, and that means putting a lot of creativity towards enticing people to contribute -- and calling in a lot of outside help, which increases my up-front costs. Most of the successful Kickstarters I’ve seen have had professional-looking videos. The pitches were short, informative, captivating, and worthy of sharing. If the person or group asking for support didn’t have a broad fan-base, there would have to be a noticeable void in the world for the Thing they were attempting to provide. I asked a filmmaker friend to shoot and edit my video in exchange for a percentage of the minimum goal if the Kickstarter should be fully funded.

I did some estimations on filming the pitch, the costs associated with album production (recording, mixing, mastering, art, liner graphic design, and disc production), patron rewards, and what the last year of my life’s work was worth to me in dollars. I estimated somewhat high on costs and based my minimum on breaking even. I would rather see this thing exist than walk away from my dream, and if that means not getting paid, that’s the risk I’ve decided to take.

Aside from the album itself in digital and CD format, I needed other incentives to encourage people to contribute at higher levels. First, I started with things I can do myself with no outside help: live performances, and a lyric book with chords, colorful “starter” ukuleles with custom, hand-painted designs or words (within reason). Then, I thought of things I could offer with other people contributing their work: t-shirts (I would need artwork), flower crowns (my persona evolved over time and now includes a recognizable crown of coral and peach-colored flowers, made by Taylor’s Maid Designs, who I found at a convention), and a limited-edition release of the album with the title “The Mommies on the Bus Say Smash the Patriarchy” (which meant hiring another artist to do a second album cover).

The problem is this: if I break even, I still don’t have a day job, I no longer have the agreement with the daycare (times are tough, they need money, too), and as much as I believe in my own passion project, I’m putting a lot on the line in the hopes that this will resonate with enough people to go viral and put my household’s financial worry to bed for a while.

I am extremely active on social media, primarily Facebook, where I write about everything I deem important. This includes my deep, personal thoughts, struggles with anxiety and depression, every bit of art I create, my more intense political opinions, and the ever-more-horrifying status of my laundry situation. I keep a lot of this stuff accessible to “Friends Only,” but as an active and social musician, I often collect friends who have several other musician friends in common with me and people I might have met once at an open mic. I have sometimes been criticized for my openness about my personal life, but more often than not, I’m praised for putting myself so nakedly out there with all my flaws; it makes people who feel like me feel less alone, and it’s always comforting to feel reciprocated.

I talk about my children’s music and planning my Kickstarter A LOT. I have gotten a spectacular amount of advice and support on Facebook. People share my YouTube videos, they “Like” my page, and there are a lot of potential supporters ready to click the button as soon as my campaign goes live.

Anyone and everyone within my immediate or peripheral social circle who might want to participate in the project is an ally. When I reached out to the woman who made my trademark crown, I told her my backstory and asked her if she would be interested in providing crowns for one of my rewards packages. She responded almost immediately, enthusiastically expressing her passion for my endeavor and wanting to help in any way she can.

These moments are the ones when the Imposter Voice In Your Head gets the wind knocked out of it. “See voice?” you say to it, “OTHER PEOPLE BELIEVE IN ME.”

I would be horribly remiss if I didn’t mention my husband, partner, and best friend, who has spent more than a year supporting our family while I have been working. I sit up at night, unable to sleep because there are too many ideas running through my head, and he offers suggestions, volleys ideas with me, and encourages me on the frequent days when the pressure to succeed outweighs the perceived amount of desire for my art. Between him and the pool of three other people whom I constantly message with ideas and anxiety, I have a very solid team on my side. On top of that, my frequent online posts about the Kickstarter provide me with the necessary feedback to keep me from sinking into the Pit of Unworthiness that so often keeps artists from creating or making their creations available to the public.

My current status:

I am waiting for my filmmaker friend to finish editing my video. I have started my Kickstarter page and filled in my rewards, though I keep tinkering with wording and pricing. I haven’t filled in the “biography” section yet - does anyone actually like writing autobiographical blurbs? I frequently oscillate between supreme belief in myself and my project and the crushing, all-consuming terror of failure.

If this Kickstarter fails, I will still have created an album’s worth of entertaining, necessary-to-the-world songs, but I will have lost more than a year of my life to a failed dream. I will have to get a job that pays enough to more than cover full-time daycare in an economy that doesn’t have a lot of jobs to spare. When I titled this piece, my goal was to express how it feels to create in myself these small, precious, fragile works, birth them, put them out for all the world to see, and then throw them at the mercy of strangers.

If this Kickstarter succeeds and does better than break even, it will mean that I was right: the world has a void for what I have to offer, and I had the creative ability and good fortune to offer it at the right time. It will reach people all over the world, children will hear the songs and receive valuable life lessons in an adorable and entertaining package. I will also be opening myself up to a truly terrifying amount of criticism. My song “Only Yes Means Yes” talks about how you shouldn’t touch people without permission -- even for a hug. “Princesses Are For Everyone” is about how fun doesn’t follow gender norms. Perhaps the most controversial, “We Are Who We Are,” is about how gender is fluid -- yes, even and especially among children -- and comes from the perspective of a child who is meeting the new kid in class, Alex, who is of indeterminate gender, how there was some confusion at first, but Alex says “it’s not important to me, but what do we have in common? Let’s do that!” There are a lot of people out there who will have nasty things to say about the implications of my songs. I will receive ugly threats.

Even if I win, I sort of lose.

I still aim to win.

Visit and support Acacia’s Kickstarter project here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1368696403/progressive-feminist-music-for-children

[musicafeminista]

WHY BEING A FEMINIST DUDE MATTERS TO ME - Yuma Wray

About five years ago, Miss Shevaughn & I made a big decision. We threw out or donated all of our non-essential belongings, quit our jobs, moved out of our cozy apartment in the Lincoln Square neighborhood of Chicago and built a bed in the back of our car. We lived in that car for almost an entire year as we slogged back and forth across the country, playing our songs to anyone and everyone who would listen. Since then our band has enlisted more members, recorded & released albums, played hundreds of shows – and even though we have upgraded to a bigger vehicle and are lucky enough to have a place to call home with my family in California – we are still doing this band FULL TIME. We don’t have much money and almost all our time is devoted to writing, rehearsing, recording and touring. Which suits us just fine – I’ve never been so happy working so hard for so little financial return. I had been looking all my life for something that I could fully devote myself to – and music was it, apparently.

So after some time I began to notice certain trends regarding us, and our music, while we were booking shows, doing interviews and reading reviews of our recordings. Even though the public reception of our work has been overwhelmingly positive, certain nagging details seemed to surface enough times for me to notice them. Why was Miss Shevaughn constantly referred to as “the singer” and I “the guitarist”? We both write & sing, we both play several instruments – and we both trade off on lead and rhythm guitar work – often multiple times in the same song! At first, I thought: “Maybe I’m just being a little too sensitive? Maybe our bio isn’t clear enough? The folks who book shows and the writers who review music are really busy. Maybe this is just an unintended oversight?” When I voiced these concerns to Miss Shevaughn, she wasn’t so forgiving. “No – my job is to sing and be pretty you are the guitar playing dude. People are stereotyping us.”

And that was the start of me awakening to the fact that, for a host of reasons, people were going to make prejudicial assumptions about our music. And many of those assumptions would be based on the gender of the musicians in our band. Miss Shevaughn and I had devoted our lives to making the biggest, best music we could, but because she is singing – Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray will never be more than “chick music” to some folks.

But it wasn’t always like this. At least – I don’t think it was. I was in high school in the early 90’s. I was really into punk rock, hardcore and what was then called “Alternative” rock. From riot grrl bands like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile, to groups like L7, Hole, The Breeders and Belly – all of whom had videos in regular rotation on MTV - it seemed like there were women everywhere shredding on guitars and bashing on drums. So much so that I didn’t really even take notice of gender when I was listening to the bands I loved.

That all began to change in the late 90’s, and the reason why really has very little to do with the music itself. It has to do with business – the business of making music more profitable. In 1996 the FCC deregulated rules on ownership of radio stations with the Telecommunications Act. This opened the door for massive buy-up and consolidation of radio stations nationwide. Within a few years, companies like Clear Channel, Cumulus, and Infinity would literally own almost all access to the airwaves. College and public radio stations aside, the only way you get on the radio is to play ball with these massive media corporations. I realize that this still doesn’t explain why female musicians are being marginalized – not just in rock, but across all genres. Stay with me…

To understand this – you have to know a little about marketing and advertising. Radio stations, much like broadcast TV, make their money by selling ad space. And they justify their rates for this ad space with lots of research on who watches/listens, and when. Decades ago, the powers that be in advertising (ever watched “Mad Men’?) decided that one of the best ways to make people crave (buy) something was to claim that (insert product here) would fill a void in a persons life and make that person feel more whole. This was around the same time that they figured out that the best group to target was housewives. The American housewife often had her contributions to society marginalized – backbreaking work housecleaning, cooking, and raising children while hubby was “bringing home the bacon”. Market to lonely, undervalued housewives and the $$$ comes flying in.

This theory that if you keep women marginalized, they will be unhappy and spend a lot of money trying to be happy is central to understanding why female musicians are undervalued. In the interest of being topical, I am going to hop on over to the modern country music genre. Just this week, a gentleman named Keith Hill, who is in the business of designing “optimal”(profitable) playlist management for modern country radio stations, stated that the best way to make your ad $$$ is to keep female musicians down to maybe a couple spots per hour. And don’t EVER play them back to back. He has been eviscerated for his statements, and has trotted out mountains of data to back up his claims. Is he an asshole? Probably – but to understand his figures – I counter with another anecdote. When Miss Shevaughn was interning at a radio station in the late 90’s – it was purchased by CBS. Soon – the word came down from corporate: get the women off the air. The charts that Mr. Hill pointed to showed that in modern country radio, female airplay peaked in 1998 – at almost 40%. Since then it has decreased steadily to where we are now – less that 19% of country radio air play is dedicated to females.

And here is where I tie it all together (or maybe just sound like a conspiracy theory nut-job) – could it be that the mega-media corporations that own almost all of the radio in America are still subscribing to the time-tested idea that if you keep women feeling like shit about themselves, they will spend, spend, spend? Could it be that by keeping women relegated to positions of little consequence they will see themselves as consumers, not producers? Could it be that the deck is being stacked against women so that they will continue to shop, shop, shop?! Could keeping female consumers convinced that making music is “men’s work” be part of a larger, more sinister agenda to keep profit margins at predictable levels?

I don’t know about that for sure – it does sound pretty far-fetched. But what I do know is that for every female guitar player out there – there are at least 20 males. For every female recording engineer, there are at least a hundred males. And for the 60 or so women who have been inducted into the Rock’N Roll Hall Of Fame – there are THOUSANDS of men. The idea that women are just not capable or interested in making music is NOT something that they are born with. It is something they learn – something they have beaten into them by the patriarchal society that straight white men like myself benefit from every day (whether we are aware of it or not).

It is bullshit – and I am tired of it. Because every time you look at Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray and think “whatever, that’s chick music” you are fucking with what I have devoted my life to. And the only way this is going to change is when American men start treating American women not as a tradable commodity, but as equals. I’m a strong, proud, manly dude who is also a feminist – because I want every musician out there to have the same opportunities to show the world how good their songs are.

Yuma Wray is a singer and multi-instrumentalist for the indie-rock band Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray www.missshevaughnyumawray.com He enjoys, ranting, raving, assembling and disassembling his guitar effects pedal board. 

Follow Yuma @yumawray on twitter

[musicafeminista]

First Ever Musica Feminista Emerging Artist Showcase! May 23rd, Bethesda, MD $5 Brand new venue, Villain & Saint 7141 Wisconsin Ave. 5 p.m. - 8 p.m.

[musicafeminista]

EQUAL OPPORTUNITY THROUGH MUSIC - A Drummer Is Born by: Fatima Brown

At eleven years old, Zac Hanson, the prepubescent drummer of a brotherly love trio from Tulsa, OK, made his mark on MTV and millions of young female fans.  I was one of those teeny boppin’ fanatics. Zac’s age, not sex, gender, or even feminine features, is what made me believe that it was possible for a little eight year old girl to become a badass drummer.  On top of this, like me, he was born in Arlington, VA.  Naturally, I thought it fate for me walk the same line as him.  I was given a junior drum set not too long after and tried many times to pull my brother into my fantasy of being a rock star.  Once in a while, my friends would give in to my pleading and sing with me or play air guitar.  But soon, I was alone behind the kit wondering how anyone could want to do anything but play music all day long.

“I wanted to be heard, and I wanted to create my own safe space between borders built to separate women and men.”

I started noticing striking and concerning disparities between women and men (in general) as I entered my teenage years.  But the representation of women in the music realm disappointed me further than daily society’s, leaving me both disturbed and angry.  To me, women in bands, such as Janis Joplin, Gwen Stefani, Kittie, and even Courtney Love respected themselves enough to depend on their attitudes and actual musical skills to carry them to the forefront of universal stages.  Their bodies were used in tandem with their instruments and voices, not disconnected from their spirits and dangled like meat for a male audience’s consumption.  

So when I saw trashy, sexist music videos and heard misogynistic lyrics, I hit the kit. I wanted to be the opposite of what was expected of women without trading my femininity for masculinity, or selling my sex to gain recognition.  I wanted to be heard, and I wanted to create my own safe space between borders built to separate women and men.  

“Music is a source where negatively constructed dynamics between polarized genders are converted into a fusion of positive, unique, and necessary perspectives and sounds.”

So much has happened in between the time I first heard “Mmmbop” and now.   In many ways, I have accomplished some of the goals drawn for myself.  I progressed, got better, and took care of other obligations so I could focus on music. I am currently in a band where my sex and gender are practically invisible; something that I have learned may not always be such a good thing. 

Fans, usually males, have come up to me after we play a show to compliment my performance, usually because I am a woman.  However, the praise is followed with comments on how the music industry is starved for the xx chromosome.  Female musicians seem genuinely demanded because we do have a different interpretation of sound and art.  Music is a source where negatively constructed dynamics between polarized genders are converted into a fusion of positive, unique, and necessary perspectives and sounds.  That’s what I want to create; equal opportunity through music.  Whether or not I am formally recognized for my participation does not matter.  I am successful because my heart is the center of my rhythm and music.

[musicafeminista]

When You’re A Guitar Player With Small Hands

By: Erin Frisby www.missshevaughnyumawray.com

I have small hands. I’m taller than average, but my handsare borderline freakishly small, like a child’s hands. I’ve also been playingguitar for about 18 years or so and I play lead and rhythm, as well as other instruments in Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray, a rock band based in Washington D.C. and California.

Some people would have you believe that having small hands means you just can’t play guitar. That’s totally untrue. You just need to find the right guitar for you.

Three things you might want to consider when picking out an electric guitar:

·      How heavy is the guitar? Can you stand and move comfortably?

·      How does the neck feel? Can your fretting hand move with ease or does the back of the neck feel like the fat end of a baseball bat?

·      How far apart are the frets? In other words, what is the scale of the neck? Can you reach all of the voicings that you want to? Can you bar chords?

Lots of beginners, parents and people buying their first electric tend to lean toward brand new student models by well-known companies like Fender or Gibson (and their cheaper counterparts, Squier & Epiphone, respectively). There’s nothing wrong with this, but be aware that these versions aren’t of the same quality as these companies’ higher end models. It’s usually worth it to try out several guitars in order to find something that feels great for you. Try some used models! You can get a great sounding, higher quality guitar for less and someone else has already broken it in for you.

Here are a few guitar options that might work well for smaller framed or smaller handed players. I’m going to start with the guitars that I own personally.

The Fender Mustang – This was my first proper electric. It came out in ’65 as a redesign of Fender’s student guitars they are short scale and you can find some old ones that are really tiny. Mine’s a ’76. Lot’s of 90’s bands (like Nirvana, The Breeders & Liz Phair) used this guitar. It has a cool tremolo arm and two single coil pickups. Another thing I really like about this guitar and was happy it’s also a feature on the following two guitars as well, is that there is a pickup selection position that is off (silent).

The Fender Jag-Stang – This is a “hybrid” Mustang neck/Jaguar shape that Fender made with Kurt Cobain. They were originally released in ’94 and have been reissued since then. It comes in blue and red (mine is blue). It’s also a short scale neck and has a single coil pickup as well as a humbucker.

The Eastwood Ichiban – Eastwood mostly remakes old department store guitar designs (Airline, Silvertone, Mosrite etc…), which makes them an excellent company to check out for smaller guitars. Eastwoods are inexpensive, cool looking and surprisingly, for the price point, reliable. My Ichiban is my main guitar and I also have an Eastwood short scale bass and 12 string electric. All of them are great sounding and sturdy instruments.

Here are some other cool options to try:

Daisy Rock – Daisy Rock is a female owned guitar company founded in 2000 and makes guitars specifically geared towards girls and women. All of their guitars are very affordably priced and they include a lot of beginner and student instruments in fun colors and shapes.

Matsumoku Guitars – Matsumoku Factory made Japanese knock offs of popular American guitars from 1951 to 1987. They were of good quality, less expensive and often tended to have slimmer neck profiles. Look for Matsumoku made Epiphone, Aria, Vox, Electra, Greco, Ibanez, Yamaha and Univox. Some collectors will inflate the price of these, but you can still find one for a few hundred dollars. This is how to get a way cooler guitar for the same price as a brand new student axe.

ESP (PS1, PS2, PC1, PC2, PC1V, PC2V) This is a heavier guitar because it’s a semi-hollow body jazz-style instrument made of solid wood, but the neck is slender. The C’s have a set neck so they are a little more expensive. The “V” models have a Gretsch-style Bigsby vibrato tailpiece.

Bottom line, play a lot of guitars before you pick one, and get one that sounds and feels great! If you can find one, a small local guitar shop may be the most helpful and accommodating, and may carry the most used guitars. If the store you’re in is making you feel uncomfortable about trying out guitars, move on, you don’t want to spend your money there anyway.

Find the right guitar for you and get playing!

[musicafeminista]

Who Can Rock?

By: Rihaana Stephens

Rihaana is 16 years old and is the lead singer and lead guitarist of Fake Bodies. You can check out and like their Facebook page here: http://www.facebook.com/fakebodiesband

I've always wanted to do music. It ran in the family and I was writing songs before I could even play an instrument. I would always play pretend band with my cousins. But ever since I saw Green Day perform on MTV, I knew I wanted to be serious about it. I asked my dad for a guitar and I became an expert at playing any Green Day song. But it was time for me to find a band. 

So far I have been in three bands and so far I have been the one who gathered all of us. I was the one who called for band practices and who wrote the songs. My bandmates never thought it was strange for a black girl to lead the band. But it was strange to others for a black girl to even be in a band, let alone the guitarist/singer. 

Now with my current band, Fake Bodies, I have three other guys backing me up. Although two of them are 18, they look at me for direction and they look at me as the leader. When we get off stage and people congratulate us, I smile because I know that a black girl can lead. A black girl can rock.