THE (LOVELY AND) TALENTED...
by Emily Dootlittle
A couple years ago I had a piece performed
on a programme of music by women composers. I was a bit surprised that we were
collectively described as “talented”: I’d always associated that word with
students and young people, and most of us were professional composers
in our 30s, 40s, and beyond. Although “talented” was almost certainly intended as
complimentary, it came across to me as a bit patronizing. Since then I’ve
noticed a number of examples where composers who are women are described, individually
or collectively, as “talented”.
Wondering if it was just me who found
this a slightly dismissive way of describing composers, I conducted
an informal Facebook and Twitter poll on other people’s reaction to the word. Approximately
a third of the friends who responded felt it was an unproblematic compliment; a
third agreed that it was applied in a slightly gendered way, with (often
unintended) condescending connotations; and a third found it problematic for
other reasons, with or without being used in a gendered context.
Describing someone
as “talented” can erase the years of hard work that go into being a composer or
performer. “Talented” may suggest that someone has potential, but has not yet
produced much – perhaps a suitable descriptor for a student (though I prefer
more precise descriptions like “learns quickly,” “has great ideas,” or “knows
how to work to achieve what they want”), but not for someone who is already
accomplished. It can serve to deprofessionalize the whole field of music,
suggesting that good musicians are just lucky, not people who have devoted
consistent, long-term effort (in an often hostile cultural and financial
climate) to developing their skills.
Some performers noted that people who
described them as “talented” often expected them to perform for free. I think
describing musicians as “talented” can also be a way of making us into
something “other” – writing us off as quirky societal outliers, rather than
recognising that anyone can make music as a meaningful part of their lives, if
they have the opportunity to learn, a willingness to work, and a culture that
supports music and the arts as an essential part of life for all.
Still curious about whether women were
disproportionately described as “talented”
I turned to my other favourite online
resource, Google, and did a search for “talented composer”. Indeed, my
suspicions were confirmed. Of the first 40 results returned for “talented
composer,” 10 referred to women and 12 to young composers. The first 40 results
for “gifted composer” returned 6 references to women, and 8 to young composers.
“Skilled composer” returned 2 references to women, and “genius composer” and
“masterful composer” returned only one reference each! I couldn’t do a search
just for “composer,” because so many of the results were non-music-related, but
a search for “music composer” also returned only 1 woman out of the top 40
results. Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise that women and men composers
are still described in different terms. A number of recent studies have shown
that recommendation letters for women and men in a variety of fields tend to
employ different words to describe the applicants. (https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2010/11/10/letters)
This post isn’t intended as a criticism of
anyone who has described women composers as “talented”: I’m more interested in
bringing to light how our language use shows our lingering, often unconscious,
cultural assumptions about women. We’ve reached a time where we’re collectively
quite willing to accept women as having potential (more than 50% of music
students in conservatories and universities are now women), but not willing to
accept women as leaders (note the shortage of women conductors in the highest
positions). I do suggest that if we are writing about women composers, we take
a moment to consider if we would write about male composers of similar stature
in the same way, and if not, think about changing our language. But I certainly
hope this doesn’t put anyone off of writing about women composers, out of fear
of accidentally using the wrong words. It’s only through writing and discussing
that we can understand where we are, and how far we still have to go.
Composer Emily Doolittle was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia in 1972, and lived in Amsterdam, Montreal, and Seattle, before moving to Glasgow in 2015. Upcoming projects include the premiere of her chamber opera Jan Tait and the Bear, by Glasgow-based Ensemble Thing, in October, 2016, and interdisciplinary research into seal vocalizations at St. Andrews University. Her CDall spring was released on the Composers Concordance Label in July, 2015. www.emilydoolittle.com
