In this article, I examine the strategies for success practised by women and other gender minority jazz musicians in Melbourne. Research has established that jazz is dominated by men, with women experiencing marginalization and exclusion in education and venues.
Drawing on interviews with women and other gender minority jazz musicians I identify strategies for success that have emerged since #MeToo.
In so doing, I shift the focus from the structures and practices that limit women, to solutions as these are enacted in Melbourne, Australia.
The findings demonstrate that the culture of jazz is changing in relation to gender, at least beyond the realm of tertiary education.
The research makes a valuable contribution to the literature on gender and jazz.
The research makes a valuable contribution to the literature on gender and jazz.
Introduction
Women and other gender minority musicians are underrepresented in the jazz music scene, which continues to be dominated by male performers, or “jazzcats” (Hall and Burke, 2022). Historically, jazz has been a space where women are marginalized and at times, excluded from groups (Buscatto, 2022; Canham et al., 2022; Hall and Burke, 2022; McKay, 2005; Tucker, 2002, 2008). There has been growing academic interest in the gendered barriers within jazz, both in Australia (Björck and Bergman, 2018; Canham et al., 2022; Goh et al., 2024; Hall and Burke, 2022; Istvandity, 2016) and elsewhere (McAndrew and Widdop, 2021; Van Vleet, 2021). This has identified the impacts of “hegemonic jazz masculinity” on musicians and the ways in which women are marginalized within jazz (Caudwell, 2012; Hannaford, 2017; Raine, 2019). Hereafter, the discussion of the literature references women, because research rarely incorporates a consideration of queer and other gender minority musicians), though Goh et al. (2024, p. 11) discussing the Australian context, observe that gender diverse musicians are “more likely to experience marginalization than (cisgender) women”.
A gap remains with regard to highlighting the success stories of women jazz artists. As in other fields, including for example, Politics and Science, Technology, Engineering and Maths (STEM), women constitute a small percentage of those having success in the jazz world (see e.g. Picaud, 2016; Willis, 2008; Van Vleet, 2021). Their low participation rates are accounted for in literature which tends overwhelmingly to focus on challenges and problems (see e.g. Caudwell, 2012; Enstice and Stockhouse, 2004; Hall and Burke, 2022; Heble and Siddall, 2000).
Despite this gap, it is apparent that women and other gender minority musicians are overcoming barriers to achieve success and, in some cases, to establish themselves as leaders within the scene (see for example Denson, 2014; Van Vleet, 2021). This is particularly notable since #MeToo, the global movement which has impacted sexual politics in the entertainment industries and other contexts since 2017 (for discussions of #Me Too, see Farrow, 2019; Kantor and Twohey, 2019, see also Devenish et al., 2020; Richards and Nystrom, 2022). It is also possible that equity and diversity in jazz are happening more in some cities than others. Buscatto’s (2022) research identifying “levers for transgression” among women musicians in France and Japan for example, offers useful insight into some of the strategies women use in these contexts to achieve success and remain in the industry. The strategies she identifies include; having a long institutional training in music, developing implicit strategies to overcome negative feminine stereotypes and drawing on support from family rather than relying on social networks within the jazz world to sustain longevity in the industry.
In this article, I explore strategies as these are enacted in the context under examination, namely the jazz and improvisation scene in Melbourne, Australia. This is important as Canham et al. (2022, p. 11) write in their systematic review of the literature on gender and jazz, “Looking at the findings of the 18 retained papers, overall we note there are no solutions here—rather what our SLR [Systematic Literature Review] revealed is that we still appear to be mapping the territory: one researcher at a time”. The article also adds to Buscatto’s research, moving beyond challenges to identify strategies women use to overcome what she calls “the ‘cumulative disadvantage’ they face over time” (Buscatto, 2022, p. 240), and adding a new context through the focus on Melbourne.
Drawing on interviews with 14 participants, 13 women and 1 non-binary musician, the article identifies strategies musicians pursue to succeed in this historically male-dominated context. Like Raine (2019, p. 198) who writes about women’s experiences of being a jazz musician, I note the value in documenting these voices so that those who read these can see that others “have been there before and that it can be done”. Though there is only one non-binary participant represented here, their account offers important insights, presenting an important example for other gender diverse jazz musicians who experience “manifold and complex forms of marginalization” (Goh et al., 2024, p. 1).
Galvanized by the global shift in understanding engendered by the #MeToo movement, I find that some jazz musicians in Melbourne are finding new and more equitable ways to make music. Rejecting established “masculinized” practices long normalized in jazz – including competitiveness, exclusion and intimidation – they are transforming the scene such that those who continue behaving in these ways are becoming less dominant. Björck and Bergman (2018, p. 54) discuss the different discourses of unity and diversity in jazz, noting that while older musicians tend to stress the former in their relationships with other jazz musicians, younger women in jazz “more often made use of a discourse of diversity”. This is also echoed in these findings in documenting these shifts as they are taking place in the context of Melbourne, I highlight solutions and agency, thus making a much-needed contribution to the literature, which has tended to focus on problems, barriers and the marginalization of women.
Discussing “success” does not mean identifying a handful of “exceptional” women who have somehow managed to “transcend” their gender and learn to play jazz well enough to be counted as “worthy” jazz musicians. As Sherrie Tucker (2002, p. 385) pointed out 20 years ago: “Inclusion of one woman (or jazz musician trapped in a woman’s body) justifies omission of others, and inclusion on the basis of male acceptance reinforces a vision of jazz as men’s natural domain”. Here, I reject this masculine exclusionary framework and instead adopt an encompassing vision of success which includes both musical achievements, such as getting gigs, releasing albums and leading bands and simultaneously attuned to personal wellbeing and the social and relational dimensions of being a jazz musician. While Buscatto (2022, pp. 239-240) found that women jazz musicians were more likely to rely on strong “family resources”, including parents and partners that were also jazz musicians, the research presented here suggests that in Melbourne, at least, musical networks are also a significant source of support enabling success.
The article proceeds as follows. In the next section, I appraise the literature on gender and jazz, focusing on the Australian context. Following this, I outline the methods and discuss the key finding – namely that despite structural inequities and cultural norms, there have been shifts in the Melbourne scene as a result of strategies being implemented by women and other gender minority musicians. These strategies are; find your people; play music across genres and; take the lead. I conclude that, precipitated by a global shift associated with the #Me Too movement, these strategies are promoting a greater sense of equity, diversity and inclusion in Melbourne jazz, at least as it exists outside tertiary institutions.
Contextualizing the research
The literature on gender and jazz has established the fact that women musicians confront challenges at every level of education, but particularly in the tertiary sector (Hall and Burke, 2022; Tucker, 2008). Girls and boys are socialized to learn gender stereotyped instruments, and practices such as improvising and taking solos tend to be seen as “masculine”, while singing is seen as “feminine” (Clingan, 2017; Green, 2002; Pendle, 2001; Wahl and Ellingson, 2018; Willis, 2008). In the present research, many of the participants survived their early music education relatively unscathed, but began to perceive “gender trouble” (Butler, 1990) on arriving at university or TAFE. This echoes the literature which reports on the very low number of women in jazz institutions, the much greater likelihood of having male teachers at university, a culture of competition, harassment and in some instances, brutality in jazz pedagogy, and the exclusion from musical and social opportunities of musicians who do not conform to the masculine ideal of the “jazzcat” (see Canham et al., 2022; Denson, 2014; Goh et al., 2024; Hall and Burke, 2022). The term “jazzcats” itself reflects that “male musicians have been placed at the center of the ways in which jazz music is defined, from the influential musicians remembered for their contributions to … associations between improvisation and masculinity” (Raine, 2019, p. 196). Female vocalists provide an exception to the masculine domination of jazz courses at universities, but are frequently seen as less musically able, taken less seriously and more likely to be valued for their appearance, than their musical prowess (Hall and Burke, 2022; Istvandity, 2016 Willis, 2008; Van Vleet, 2021).
The growing literature on gender and jazz also documents the world beyond education. This too makes clear that women experience challenges that are rarely faced by heterosexual male jazz musicians (Buscatto, 2022; Raine, 2019; Wahl and Ellingson, 2018). This is particularly so with regard to expectations about where women “belong”; namely, at the front of the band singing and with a pretty dress on (see for example Buscatto, 2022; Denson, 2014; Istvandity, 2016; Picaud, 2016; Tucker, 2008; Van Vleet, 2021). As one interviewee notes: where “men could be over 300 pounds and ugly as sin and they would be hired … a woman has to look a certain way” (Van Vleet, 2021, p. 217). Women face challenges to do with navigating sexual harassment, from booking venues to playing in them (Goh et al., 2024), and for this reason, Buscatto (2022, p. 238) identified “‘turning off the seduction’ with colleagues’ as a strategy women employ to ensure they are valued for their professional skills Participating in bands and ensembles can present myriad challenges, from social exclusion (Van Vleet, 2021) to being “hazed” on stage by male musicians (Wahl and Ellingson, 2018) and being cornered into relying on “the visual construction of femininity for promotion” (Istvandity, 2016, p. 83; see also Hannaford, 2017; Tucker, 2002), a strategy with which women have an ambivalent relationship given dressing and presenting themselves in particular ways can also help with careers “at least in the beginning” (Buscatto, 2022, p. 238; see also Raine, 2019).
Despite these varied challenges, some scholars argue “there has been significant forward progress for women in jazz” (Van Vleet, 2021, p. 223). For instance, discussing the Melbourne Women’s Jazz Festival Lisa Denson (2014, p. 163) observes:
Since the 1990s, women have become an increasingly significant force on the Australian jazz scene. Professional jazzwomen are no longer confined to the roles of vocalist or pianist as they may have been in the past. They play brass and wind instruments, drums, bass and guitar. They write and arrange their own music and are commissioned to write for other ensembles, including big bands.
Considering women jazz musicians in the United States of America, Van Vleet (2021, p. 225) goes further, writing:
The Me Too movement that started in 2017 served to make women more vocal about persisting gender inequality and harassment. The sharing of experiences has increased women’s confidence; the movement itself has improved the situation of women in jazz, according to the interviewees, as these women feel more confident about standing up for themselves and more supported by their communities.
That the #MeToo movement occurred in between Denson (2014) and Van Vleet’s (2021) respective research projects makes the seven-year gap between the publication of their articles significant. Post #Me Too, in 2019, Raine published research describing the everyday experiences of being a jazz musician. Exploring the experiences of women musicians who had taken part in the United Kingdom’s Cheltenham Jazz Festival, she comments that the challenges the festival faces with regard to gender equity goals are “significant and complex” (2019, p. 194) and that approaches to improving the situation will need to be multi-faceted.
In contrast to the existing scholarship on gendered experience in jazz set in particular places – Picaud on Paris (2016), Denson on Melbourne (2014), Istvandity on Brisbane (2016),– all of which has been published prior to #MeToo, the present article reports on research in the Melbourne jazz scene since #MeToo. In so doing, it updates the discussion about gender and jazz in important respects, adding also to the literature on jazz which offers insight into the unique culture of jazz as it exists in diverse cities. In focusing on the strategies for success that the participants employ, I make an important contribution to the literature, namely identifying and discussing some strategies and “solutions” to the historic exclusion and marginalization of women from jazz.
Methods
This article draws on interviews with 14 participants, 13 women and one non-binary person. Initially, the author drew on connections with Melbourne musicians to recruit participants, though none of those interviewed were known to the author prior to the research. Further participants were recruited through snowballing. Interviews were semi-structured and in-depth, with most lasting about an hour. All but one were conducted online using Microsoft Teams and all were audio recorded and transcribed. The project was approved by the Human Research Ethics Committee of the author’s institution.
The interviews took a biographical approach, which included asking whether and in what ways participants experienced gender when it came to their musical life story. This approach allowed participants to narrate their own experiences, promoting in-depth reflection on the factors that enabled or constrained them and providing a rich source of material for analysis.
Interview transcripts and later, a draft of the present article, were sent to participants for verification and sense-checking. All but two agreed to be identified: as such, there are two participants here referred to by pseudonyms. Inductive thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke, 2006) was employed to analyze the interview data to generate, review and consolidate codes and themes.
Transcripts were initially coded by two members of the research team independently. These were then discussed and compared by both researchers, following which the process was repeated to yield themes. In conducting the thematic analysis of the interview data, several themes were generated based on the participants’ experiences in jazz education and the scene in Melbourne. There were three high level themes, strategies for success, gendered harassment and institutional challenges in the tertiary education space. This approach of close reading of and reflection on the data is consistent with data analysis processes in the social sciences and with feminist methodologies which emphasize social and political change that benefits women and takes their knowledge as valuable and important.
The findings about participants’ experiences in jazz education are reported elsewhere (forthcoming). Here, I focus on strategies for success.
Understanding success
I note that the participants in this study have benefited from experiences and backgrounds shown to support success in music and jazz more specifically (Dell et al., 2014; Moore et al., 2003). They have grown up in families with parents who either played music, supported them to have music lessons or both and attended schools with excellent music programs, including some which allowed them to learn more than one instrument for free and to participate in multiple ensembles and bands. All had completed a tertiary degree in music, with most focusing on jazz and improvisation. These findings are consistent with Buscatto’s (2022) observation that family support and a long institutional training in music provide jazz women with “levers” with which to transgress gendered barriers.
All but three participants are white and all “middle class” (although it should be noted that this is not surprising given it is estimated that 51–58% of Australians are now said to fit into this category (OECD, 2019). Not without irony, given jazz’s roots in African-American culture, this is relevant in Melbourne and Australia because it has been white, middle-class men who have dominated jazz in this context. It seems white, middle-class women are following in their footsteps with a far smaller percentage of women in jazz being from backgrounds other than white. This led one participant to say that being brown was “more complex”, because it is “more passive than the gender thing and harder to pinpoint”. Another, of South Asian background said that “gender is more of a thing that gets to her than race” (Sally) because she’s “used to living in a white Australian culture” (for an excellent discussion of “race” in jazz see Tucker (2002, pp. 381–382); see also Suzuki (2013)).
All were introduced to music, including jazz, in childhood or adolescence, either through their parents or at school, with some having been taken as children or adolescents to jazz venues in Melbourne including Bennett’s Lane, the leading venue for jazz in the city in the 1990 and 2000s.
Demonstrating this, Flora Carbo, a 25-year-old saxophonist, who has won multiple awards in Australia and internationally, recalls the value of growing up in her musical family:
We would all play music together and then we'd always go to lots and lots of music … and we'd go to lots of music camps with family friends and lots of immersive experiences. I realise that not a lot of people had the opportunities I did to connect to music.
Other participants are aware of this privilege and the belonging it confers. Lena Douglas, a pianist, commented that it was one of the reasons she and Claire Cross, a bass player and composer, started YoWo, a program to enable young women and gender diverse musicians. Douglas further commented that it took her longer than some of her counterparts to notice gender “microaggressions”, attributing this to “the sense of belonging” she had experienced “from a very young age”.
Similarly, Tamara Murphy, a bass player who grew up “being dragged to gigs” and surrounded by jazz musicians, said:
There's a bunch of people who are in the Melbourne jazz scene … who I've known literally since I was about 10 years old. So I really feel I've got a lot of, they're mostly men, so a lot of uncles are like mentors and friends. I was pretty lucky, when I hear all those stories about people being taken advantage of, I felt very not like that. I felt very much like I was in the family and very looked after by everyone who was around.
Murphy’s comment about “people being taken advantage of” points to another important feature that emerged from these interviews, and helps contextualize the ways in which some approach their musical careers.
Some among those interviewed described sexual harassment and discrimination at university and in venues. This included being touched on the bottom repeatedly throughout a performance, being expected to dress and behave well while men can look “scruffy” and be uncommunicative on stage and being asked by another musician whether there was “any chance of a fuck”.
Two participants spoke about being in what they now see as exploitative relationships with male teachers, involving men 20 years older when the sexual relationships occurred. These topics are discussed as case studies in a forthcoming journal article about gender and jazz education, so I do not go into detail here. It is important to note however that the strategies for success that the participants outline are, in some instances, shaped by personal experiences of harassment, discrimination and exploitation or more subtly, exclusion and denigration in the masculine culture of jazz as it exists in both tertiary settings and venues.
Other factors influencing the strategies the research participants mentioned include; the limited number of women and other gender minority teachers and instrumentalists at university; the ways in which jazz is taught, which has a competitive edge and tends to emphasize jamming and bebop (characterized by fast tempo and complex syncopation) and the expectation in the scene that women conform to certain norms including in relation to appearance and behavior, while men are not subject to the same expectations (for further insight into these challenges see Goh et al., 2024; Raine, 2019).
It is clear that women pursue their education and careers in a broader context weighted towards cis white men who have been seen as the natural inhabitants and leaders of jazz. The article does not argue these conditions no longer exist. But, I do suggest that this is no longer all pervasive nor ineluctable. Rather, as participants reveal, they pursue a range of strategies which allow them to succeed, both in their musical careers and in creating the belonging that helps sustain. The first of these strategies is “Find Your People”.
Strategy 1: Find your people
Finding your people promotes success in the encompassing sense described above; that is, by enhancing musical opportunities, but also by providing the solidarity and support that promotes confidence and longevity in the industry. It involves identifying and collaborating with musicians who value inclusion, safety and respect, whether they be male, female or non-binary.
There is a long history in jazz of men working with other men claiming, “they are the best players”, but also because “people book their mates”. This echoes jazz in the United Kingdom where, as Raine (2019, p. 197) notes, the scene is not “lacking in experienced women instrumentalists, it is that they do not fit with gendered definitions of jazz music and musician”. In Melbourne, it is possible to critique both the “best players” and “we book our mates” positions – the first because there are a number of people who could do the gig and the second because it excludes those who have not had access to these communities. This is eloquently summarized by trombonist, Ellie Lamb:
Men will defend their all-male bands saying, “oh I just hired the best person for the gig”. That’s such a frustrating conversation to have because there’s so much packed into that … no you hired the best person in your immediate circle that you know, that you’ve booked a million times, because you’re mates with him because you went to uni with him, for the gig … so from the point of view … the guys that book other guys and claim it’s a meritocracy, there is no way in hell that the third trombone chair in that big band can’t be played by 100 different trombonists in Melbourne. … there are plenty of people who are capable of that. So then what difference does it make?
There are a range of ways women in Melbourne’s jazz scene “find their people”, rather than working with those with whom they are not comfortable (Hannaford, 2017). The first and most obvious is to work with women and other gender minority musicians. This can create opportunities for gigs, while also fostering a sense of safety likely to promote self-expression, an important and valued element of jazz music. Though there are limitations to the notion that “sisterhood solidarity” is inherently supportive or encouraging (see Björck and Bergman, 2018), playing with other women can function in ways that launch and enable jazz musicians.
In Melbourne, a key moment in this respect was created by Xani Kolac, an improvising violinist and composer. Kolac started “Stand By Your Woman” in 2017 after playing a gig for International Women’s Day in which all the instrumentalists were male. Thinking “gosh, they should have gotten some women musicians in this band” she decided “maybe instead of waiting for that to happen, I should do it”. Kolac took action, arranging 20 songs for a 14-piece band which played at Hamer Hall, a preeminent performance location. She carefully researched players to bring this band together, many of whom have since gone on to further success, as a result of their participation in the show. This includes, for example, guitarist, Kathleen O’Halloran who is now the guitarist in jazz vocalist Kate Ceberano’s band, after both women participated in Stand By Your Woman. Other jazz musicians, including Ellie Lamb, Cheryl Durongpisitkul and Stella Anning, said that playing in Stand By Your Woman was significant, both for their sense of belonging and careers.
After completing her degree and then returning from being away overseas, saxophonist and composer, Cheryl Durongpisitkul, found that some of “the boys” with whom she had studied or played, determined that she was not practising enough and declined to be in her ensembles. She found it difficult to get gigs and people were not booking her. Durongpisitkul attributes this to sexism, a claim that finds much support in the literature (see for example, Buscatto, 2022; Goh et al., 2024). But then, she said, “things changed”:
So I couldn’t get gigs but Martin Jackson gave me one which was great. And that was around Me Too happening. And then Xani Kolac started an all female band and all of a sudden like 180! It was like, here, have all of the opportunities! Hey, you’re a woman, I hear we haven’t been supporting you! [laughs]. It’s stark the difference … My playing didn’t change. … But all of a sudden, I became quite in demand. … It was just a movement that was happening. Me Too was happening, it was around the years that jazz festival started the Take Note thing, across the globe, there was a change.
Durongpisitkul’s observation that her experience changed because of #MeToo, rather than her playing, demonstrates that shifts in culture impact on music, which encapsulates society, rather than merely reflecting it.
Describing it as an excellent experience to participate in Stand By Your Woman, Durongpisitkul said:
Xani did a really great job of creating a safe space, a lot of people hire women, what is it ABCD? Anything but cis dudes [laughs]! People hire them without changing anything about the culture. And you can’t do that, you can’t. It has to feel different to be truly inclusive. So I think Xani did a really great job of being that and doing that, she worked really hard.
Ellie Lamb concurs:
Xani booked me in and I did this amazing show with this 14 piece band of women and with all these great pop stars and from there just meeting that group I can trace back pretty much every amazing thing that’s happened in my career since then to meeting that group of people … it all just fell into place and I have been able to keep doing gigs and keep writing music.
This momentum and sense of belonging is something to which both Durongpisitkul and Xani Kolac have contributed, and their approach is shifting the scene in Melbourne for others also. “Finding your people” is thus crucial to success for it promotes a sense of comfort and belonging that supports a willingness to take musical risks – such as leading bands and composing, for example – that have historically been aspects of jazz with which men are more comfortable.
Stella Anning said she could feel the difference in Melbourne between 2014 and 2019:
I came back and I was shocked at how many gigs I got because before I left, I wasn’t getting that many gigs. Obviously, we’ve all improved as musicians, but I feel like it was just that you didn’t have to be in a boy’s club to get gigs, you know?
Her observation that women no longer had “to be in a boy’s club to get gigs” confirms the shift engendered by the #MeToo movement. Tamara Murphy who is slightly older than those quoted above, concurs, saying: “things are changing in terms of inclusivity” among the “younger generation” and “that’s really beautiful to see”. Her insights support Björck and Bergman's (2018) observation that younger musicians emphasize “the importance of creating a space for plural gender identities … but also in regard to other hierarchies such as sexuality, ethnicity, age and functionality”.
But for some this is still often about women. Stephanie Pappas is a 34-year-old vocalist and composer. She said that one of the things she loves about working with women is that “you’re not wondering if there’s another agenda”, adding that she is “finding it quite difficult to be around men now that don’t try … to be sensitive to young female musicians and thoughtfully putting groups together”. Discussing the shift in the ways in which men who behave badly are treated, she said:
I know dudes now who don't get work because of the shit they say online and the way they are with people and it's excellent. And if more women were in charge than those dudes wouldn't get the call.
Her words reflect the shift taking place – one in which sexual politics and behavior matter in relation to getting gigs. She further noted that those who continue to behave in a masculinist way are: “going to live in a very different world and they’re not going to be welcome”. Though participants in other projects have pointed out that “musical collaborations between women cannot automatically be expected to function as supportive or encouraging” (Björck and Bergman, 2018), there is evidence that in Melbourne at least, they often do function in this way.
For the musicians who participated in this research, working with the right people (not only women) is key. As Anning said, where once she put up with badly behaved musicians:
Now I feel like I have this circle of people that I play with that are really welcoming, I feel like I am in a small safe circle which I'm happy with. I don't want to play with people that are going to not be that, but I feel like everyone I play with is inclusive and chill and cool and a totally different mentality to the people that I grew up with.
It is thus not only women who are participating in this shift. Rather, as Kolac says, those in her circles and particularly younger women are taking an intersectional approach, thinking about ethnicity and gender identity as diverse. The changes, rather than being what Kolac calls “feminism lite” are about the politics of inclusion, safety and respect and musicians who demonstrate those values are welcome, including heterosexual men.
This is manifest in the Jazzlab Orcheztra (JLO) which was started by Cheryl Durongpisitkul and Madison James-Smith in 2019. The aim was to create a big band with diversity at its core. The Jazzlab Orcheztra plays once a month at the Jazzlab, one of the main venues for jazz in Melbourne. According to Anning, who plays in JLO, this includes men who are “just really nice people”. Lamb agrees, stating that in JLO:
I discovered a bunch of cismen that also felt alienated by this beat down culture that they experienced at uni … it’s a community of people who have empathy or at least sympathy for the fact that the community is not always welcoming and not always comfortable for people, but that want it to be. So we have this band that plays once a month and it’s just a stage full of people who just love each other and love each other’s music and that feels like a community in and of itself.
Discussing her conversations with some of the men with whom she works, Durongpisitkul says:
… the way that people … exist now in band settings, feels completely different to before. Even talking to the men, the prominent men, who are I guess the upcomers, they’re in their 30s too [laughs] and I ask so “hey, would you sleep with these 21-year-olds at your gigs?” And they’re like “ah no, but they do laugh at my jokes a lot so I can see how it would have been a thing back then”. But that shows how the culture is changing, that’s nice to see, nice to be around.
These findings indicate a more optimistic viewpoint than the one which is represented in the majority of the literature on gender and jazz. While some of those interviewed experienced the challenges identified in the literature, they are creating new musical communities based on different values and changing the scene from within.
Strategy 2: Playing across genres
Perhaps more than any other musical genre, jazz functions on and perpetuates exclusion, including in gendered ways (McAndrew and Widdop, 2021; Tucker, 2002; Wahl and Ellingson, 2018). As McAndrew and Widdop (2021, p. 690) note: “Jazz is remarkable among genres in emerging from marginalised communities to a position of status”. Discussing the cultural politics of jazz in Britain, McKay (2005, p. 252) quotes critic, Jane Cornwell, who observed: “[j]azz is often seen as a ‘serious’ music, a genre that demands total involvement and knowledge of past and present details to be enjoyed. Dare I say it, but that’s rather anal, rather male”.
The following comment from saxophonist, Flora Carbo, captures these “masculine” aspects of jazz:
There's just a certain style of community in jazz that you're taught, we're taught that there needs to be this sort of boy's club feeling or something. It’s kind of taught. It's through the history. It's like … we're going to do this now and there's this masculine energy in the music … ’
Tucker (2002, p. 380) suggests it is important to ask: “What musics have been called jazz by whom and when and where, and what have these musics called jazz meant historically to variously multiply-positioned musicians, audiences, institutions, and jazz researchers?” Answering these questions reveals a strong masculinist bias in jazz and so playing outside, across, around and near jazz is itself a way of rejecting these shackles and defining success on new terms. In contrast to Buscatto (2022) who sees women playing across genres as one of the ways women can be marginalised in jazz, this research shows participants positioning themselves on the edges and playing across diverse genres as indicative of agency and power.
Carbo’s comment illustrates that the history of jazz prioritizes men and masculinity. The “masculine energy” she mentions is the main reason most of the participants worked across a range of genres rather than seeing themselves as jazz musicians. Pappas put it as follows:
Why do they [jazz men] have to mess with music? They have taken something that is so beautiful and they've overworked it and overcomplicated it so that they can conquer it and be better at another man at it. And that's why people hate jazz because it's just eugh … there’s too much language in it. There's too much like really explicit smart in your face, and I don't like that, that's not musical to me anymore.
The idea that men want to “conquer it and be better than another man at it” reflects the competitive aspect of jazz that has been well-documented in the literature (McAndrew and Widdop, 2021). It was also referred to by Durongpisitkul who echoed Pappas, saying this “ritualistic I’m gonna be the best” approach is “not necessarily what I find interesting right now”. She elaborated, talking about “the idea of musicality as a whole being seen or just like a different perspective on the instrument being seen”. Having “heard a lot of white, male stories in music”, participants are more interested in hearing other stories. Rejecting the “score keeping” in jazz they create opportunities to make music less encumbered by the weight of this gendered history.
When in jazz contexts and venues, participants notice what Selene Messinis, a pianist, calls a “nitpicking energy”. Discussing this, Messinis reflected that jamming in jazz clubs is not a “safe place for women to exist”. When asked what didn’t feel safe, she elaborated:
The jazz police. See I play a lot of contemporary music … but the jazz ones feel like the wrath of the jazz gods will come and get you if you don't know all of the tunes in your brain, off by heart, without looking at sheet music …. There's this crazy sort of pressure that I feel even when I walk into jazz clubs. I feel this nitpicking sort of energy … it's like what are they going to pull me up for? What are they going to judge me for not getting right?
The idea that jazz is the genre most likely to produce a “competitive, cold environment” characterized by “weird elitism” (Alex Roper) was also represented by drummer, Alex Roper. When asked if she identifies as a jazz drummer, Roper responded:
No. Definitely not. … I have a background in it, like studied it, and I did a gig with Cheryl recently at a jazz club. But I definitely got a bit of impostor syndrome because I haven't played jazz in a long time and I really enjoy the music, but some of the venues are kind of gross …. they feel cold and it's not that fun.
Participants discuss jazz as a foundation on which they draw but a genre they do not wish to be confined to. Douglas captured this when discussing the research focus on jazz and gender:
We're kind of having this whole conversation as if I'm a jazz musician. But I think in a way, I feel like I studied jazz and I have a lot of jazz influences in my music, but I don't really feel like a jazz musician.
Discussing the sense that to get booked at jazz venues you have to know people and “be part of a club that you don’t know what the rules are”, Douglas said that in contrast to jazz venues in which the same band plays two sets, pop and rock venues typically require musicians to have “at least one or two support bands and so there’s kind of an automatic necessity to bring in other community members and it’s less insular”.
There are three leading venues for jazz in inner-city Melbourne. Some participants felt that two catered to stereotypes and tired precedents. One is seen as replicating “oldie-worldie” jazz music, “where the woman in the dress is up the front of an all-male band”, the other, as “a club you’re not welcome to” (Lena Douglas). The latter was discussed as a venue which only seems to allow women to play on Thursdays, leading one participant to jokingly refer to this as “Ladies Night”. By playing across a range of genres, women and other gender minority musicians are able to perform in a range of venues and transcend some of the boundaries enforced by the “jazz police”.
Nevertheless, as noted above, the participants valued having studied jazz. The merits of doing so were captured by pianist, Andrea Keller:
Jazz is still the best music I know to teach rhythmic, harmonic, melodic, collaborative, ensemble, and improvised techniques … There's no other music that contains all of the complexities, the rhythmic and harmonic complexities of jazz, the way ensembles work in jazz, the interactive element, the spontaneous element, and all the improvisation.
The value of learning jazz was echoed by Sally, a 22-year-old guitarist and singer, who said “I definitely wouldn’t label my current music jazz at all” but expressed appreciation for “having a jazz education” because “it just unlocks everything”.
Nat Bartsch, a pianist who plays across genres, including neo-classical and jazz, similarly appreciates having a background in jazz. In her observation it is the women from her tertiary course who have made the most of their jazz training, despite being far fewer in number than the men. She said “not quite fitting” has become “a silver lining” because if one is “outside” anyway, then this entails the need to create your own path:
I've never been really asked to play that often in other people's ensembles and work on their compositions. There's definitely a boys club element to that or maybe it's that my style of playing, which is quite feminine and quiet, is not sought after by them. That's … fine, it's like “I'll just be over here doing my thing” and I think all of the women in my year did that.
Tamara Murphy also mentioned the “silver linings” of not getting asked to do all the gigs male contemporaries were asked to do. This is one of the factors which led to her establishing Murphy’s Law, an ensemble “which ran for 14 years and made four albums”:
That was a really great thing for me, especially as a bass player, and I wonder if I had been booked more in other people's bands, whether that would have happened actually. So in some ways, you could see your silver lining as the fact that I wasn't doing all the gigs I wanted to do, allowed me the space and room and initiative to build this thing and so I started band leading around that time and that’s when I began that compositional journey as well.
Strategy 3: Take the lead
Participants emphasize leading their own ventures, both musically and to support and encourage other women and gender-diverse musicians.
As noted above, Murphy and Bartsch talked about being on the outside as a silver lining. Carbo went further, noting that there’s a “power shift at the moment”:
I feel especially now there's a group, there's a community of musicians, of female leaders in the scene around my age, a little bit older like Kyrie Anderson, Helen Svoboda, Cheryl, I mean, there's plenty, Chloe Kim, there's plenty of people that are very similarly, very incredibly strong in their artistic visions and their artistic integrity. And it seems to me that these people have the power at the moment. … There is this power shift at the moment I think happening, especially in Melbourne, with the females being the leaders.
This perception that it is women who are doing interesting things was also evident in the interview with Bartsch. Observing that it is the women from her graduating year that have gone on to ground-breaking ventures, she said that it might be because women have to stand out, whether “compositionally or in their style of playing or their style of improvising”.
If you look at Andrea Keller or Gian Slater, Tamara Murphy, these absolute leaders in the scene, they all have multiple projects, constantly collaborating and crossing between genres and just working their absolute arses off. I don't see male players of the same calibre doing that same multi-level multi-project, super exhausted way of being in the scene, if that makes sense. It blows me away what they do.
This admiration for, and appreciation of, other musicians was widespread among the participants with some noting that they had benefited from having these women musicians as role models.
Alex Roper observed that discussions on social media are also changing the norm, noting:
I think there's just so many gender diverse people playing drums and playing instruments that historically were associated with men. So, there's a lot of visibility online now and I think that trickles down into real life in terms of the education system. There's people out there doing really, really incredible stuff like Cheryl and like Nat Grant. … [Grant’s] just so integral in the drumming community and amplifying different voices …
Appreciating other women and GNC musicians who are leaders Stella Anning said, she hoped Cheryl Durongpisitkul would one day be “the leader of the jazz world”. She also mentioned her appreciation for Claire Cross who started YoWo Music (a music program for young female and gender non-conforming musicians) with Lena Douglas. Sally, who is “doing everything” in the scene said she was inspired by Douglas who “plays piano and she writes music like I do and then creates albums and leads bands and goes on tour and does exactly what I’m doing now”. Sally also noted that it is usually women that she finds inspiring, both musically and in terms of their careers:
… all of the artists that I found I like the most happen to be women because their style of music and their style of writing, not just because of their gender, but I find that the style of music I really like happens to all be women in Melbourne.
Similarly, Messinis considers herself to be in charge, commenting:
I feel I live quite a rich life as a musician today. As a session musician, as a touring person, as a side person, as a bandleader of my own, as a music teacher, I feel I've got quite a diverse life of music.
Messinis is committed to bringing this confidence to the adolescent women and GNC musicians she mentors:
I want them to feel like they're in control of knowing how to roll a lead. Knowing how to plug in. Knowing where to stand on stage. Knowing how to hold the microphone. Knowing how to work a PA. Feeling confident with their songwriting ability. Knowing how to write an invoice. Not being embarrassed to try new things musically. Those are the sorts of things that I want the YoWo kids to grow up thinking they're entitled to.
It is also women who lead the collective effort to make jazz more equitable and inclusive at least in Melbourne. That this is seen as “women’s work” reflects cultural norms in which women are responsible for the unpaid jobs men tend not to do, and often do not even recognize to be work (Hochschild, 2012). While there are certainly points to make about this from a feminist perspective, it is important to acknowledge the leadership on transforming gender inequity in jazz evident in YoWo, Gender Defying Jazz (run by Andrea Keller in her capacity as the Head of Jazz and Improvisation at the Melbourne Conservatarium of Music), and Take Note, a program run by the Melbourne International Jazz Festival, which is designed to address the under representation of women and gender diverse musicians in jazz. In addition to these programs, Xani Kolac started Spire Collective (Sounds and Performance Inspiring Recognition and Equality) after she ran Stand By Your Woman and agents began contacting her to ask about diverse musicians. The Jazzlab Orcheztra is also part of the change. Described as pressing “reset on the big band tradition: creating visionary, original, genre-bending jazz music with a focus on diversity and inclusivity” (The Jazz Lab, 2024), JLO provides a safe place for jazz musicians, particularly those who are emerging. As Ellie Lamb says, “there’s a welcoming and loving scene that’s ready for people to come in, that you don’t have to break in you don’t have to do your time, you’re already in it”.
Such initiatives are complemented by the individual choices and leadership of other musicians. For instance, Bartsch discussing her personal commitment to making social inclusive change in music, notes:
I used to get really angry about it [inequity] and be quite a fierce advocate and really work hard and now it's almost been like a personal preference to err on the side of glass half full and keep my world smaller. Rather than thinking about it in a meta level, it's more those little micro changes that I individually can make, I always hire at least 50% women in my ensembles and mentor heaps of emerging women and again, “I'm just over here doing my thing.” … Hopefully it's incremental change. That is how we get there.
Showing leadership in terms of their music as well as their commitment to mentoring others, the participants practise strategies which are beginning to transform the world of jazz and improvisation in Melbourne, Australia. In doing so, they offer some real world “solutions” to the overarching marginalization of women in jazz. Rather than “waiting to be asked”, they initiate their own projects, as many have indeed always done (see Buscatto, 2022; Tucker, 2002), but, now, in a post #Me Too context, their leadership and presence is perhaps more sought out as jazz programmers seek to enhance diversity in the clubs and on the stages where jazz is performed (see Raine, 2019).
Conclusion
Twenty years ago, Tucker (2002, p. 383) wrote that jazz studies were “a moldy fig on this [gender] issue, stubbornly out of the theoretical loop in its sluggishness to incorporate current theories about gender, particularly those that may be considered feminist”. Since then, there has been an increasing interest in gender as it plays out in the jazz world.
Nevertheless, there remain gaps in the literature, with one being that there is very little written about strategies that support success (cf Buscatto, 2022). In this article, I have sought to identify some of these as practised by jazz musicians in Melbourne. Noting the impact of #MeToo, I note there is more work to be done to consolidate these shifts, including ensuring changes in tertiary settings. It is also important to expand understanding of the experiences of musicians hitherto little represented in the literature on jazz, including gender minority, queer and ethnically diverse musicians (see Goh et al., 2024).
In Melbourne, new models of gender are being asserted and developed in the jazz scene. Pushing the boundaries of what it means to be a jazz musician and of understandings of jazz itself, these allow for a more diverse cohort of musicians to have success in the scene. In pointing to the agency of women, the findings provide a sense of hope and change amid an established literature emphasizing disadvantage and marginalization. Gender inequality persists in jazz, due to structural, systemic, societal norms and cultural gender-based barriers. But in identifying and highlighting these strategies developed since #MeToo I have shown that resistance to these norms and barriers is slowly taking effect.
