EMERGING VOICES: Music Has No Boundaries

This is the eighth and final essay in a series of posts I’ve written as part of the Emerging Voices project which has been happening at the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society these past two weeks.

For more information about the project, please visit: https://www.pcmsconcerts.org/projects/emerging-voices/

“[…] I wish 

maps would be without

borders & that we belonged 

to no one & to everyone

at once, what a world that 

would be. Or not a world

maybe we would call it

something more intrinsic

like forgiving or something

simplistic like river or dirt.” 

From “Maps” by Yesenia Montilla, 2017

Even before beginning work on the Emerging Voices project a couple of years ago, I had a strong internal reaction whenever the subject of identity came up, especially in the way it has with the recent intense waves of nationalism and the racial bigotry often associated with it. I find there is a friction between opposing ideas I hold. On the one hand, I deeply support the struggles of those who have been historically downtrodden. On the other hand, as simplistic as this may sound, I don’t understand why more people can’t see that there are so many aspects of human existence which are common to us all. We all bleed the same.

As we have been putting the project together, I’ve become more attuned to conversations about musical identity, and sharpened my thoughts about the issues involved. In classical music, we are being forced to contend with the conflict between the ideal we uphold – that it simply takes excellence to succeed – and the reality that the keys to success and opportunity are much more complicated and elusive than that.

With adages such as “practice makes perfect” and traditions such as orchestral auditions taking place behind a screen, it’s easy to buy into the ideal of the paramount of excellence, which does hold a truth within it: there is a craft to music. Like any art, music requires technique and discipline to go along with talent for success, and in many ways, we musicians are only as good as our last performance. 

Growing up in the progressive college town of Ann Arbor, Michigan, I was fortunate to have been raised in a community which provided the perception that the work of equalizing the playing field was done. From the age of 4, my music education primarily took place at the University of Michigan, where nearly half of the voice faculty were African American teachers of note, and where institutions such as the Sphinx Organization, which has extensive programs that support young musicians of color, were started. 

It wasn’t until I left the cocoon of Ann Arbor that I became aware of my younger self’s naïveté and the persisting issues of prejudice and access to training that cannot be ignored. 

Oakland, Calif., Mar. 1942. A large sign reading "I am an American" placed in the window of a store, at [401 - 403 Eighth] and Franklin streets, on December 8, the day after Pearl Harbor. The store was closed following orders to persons of Japanese descent to evacuate from certain West Coast areas. The owner, a University of California graduate, will be housed with hundreds of evacuees in War Relocation Authority centers for the duration of the war

Photo: Dorothea Lange

In Los Angeles once during a trial lesson, a prospective teacher suggested that I adopt my mother’s Greek maiden name so that those in the music industry wouldn’t think I was “just another dumb Asian singer.” In my early years as a Studio artist at the Houston Grand Opera I had a conversation with a board member who described a biracial colleague of mine as “an OK guy, for a half-breed.” Despite the trailblazing in the standard operatic repertoire by my teachers at the University of Michigan mere decades earlier, I watched numerous African American colleagues chafe at being typecast, as the only opportunities that came to them were offers to sing roles in Porgy and Bess. More than once after opera performances, I’ve heard industry professionals say to me, “You play a straight man so well,” as if this were some sort of stunning feat for a gay man. As I have begun teaching, I’ve become keenly aware of how rare it is to have access to basic music education, particularly for children in marginalized communities.

The preciousness of the music is never lost on me because of my upbringing and the community in which I was raised. My experiences as a working professional musician constantly underscore for me the need to discuss these issues. In our increasingly polarized world, we must search for solutions and healing. Questions are raised for all of us to answer. Is it possible to separate art from politics? Is art for art’s sake a possibility in such a world? I want to say yes, but the process of assembling this project has made me keenly aware of the mission behind my musical life. It has also helped me see that art and politics are by no means mutually exclusive. They can and should serve each other. 

For example, there has been an increasing focus on country music lately, such as Ken Burns’ documentary series on its roots and Jad Adumrad’s Radiolab podcast Dolly Parton’s America exploring the singer’s cultural impact. These deep dives into the history of music which is often presented as quintessentially American show that its origins, like the American people, come from everywhere – from Africa to the British Isles and beyond. This is not entirely dissimilar from the French composers who, swept up in waves of exoticism, incorporated tonalities from other cultures into their own compositions, seeking to redefine French style. 

Some today might call this cultural appropriation, but I believe it is much more complex than that. Deep down, isn’t all music a combination of influences that have been shared as people have moved from one place to the next? The unique power of music lies in the universality of its language. Regardless of where it comes from, or who “owns” it, all music is comprised of the same 12 tones and the relationships between them, regardless of how we acknowledge them or manipulate them. In the face of anti-German xenophobic protests during his 1919 U.S. tour, the famed Austrian violinist Fritz Kreisler said, “Music has no vehicle in which it is held down and confined to nationalities any more than religion is for one favored people alone.” He was right.

Song, with its combination of music and text, its magical mixture of the universal language with the languages of many nations, allows us to step into another’s shoes for a time. It allows us to reconnect with that mythical time before the Tower of Babel, in which all the world spoke one language, and we all understood each other. It allows us to access compassion and empathy – the only real tools that are going to help us bridge the divides that separate our fractured society.