6 minute read

In many college music classrooms across the United States, music history is taught as the development of western European music spanning over six centuries. Condensing this into a semi-digestible format for students to form a general knowledge of music over the years results in classes of students educated on the most influential names in music throughout those six centuries, nearly all of whom are white men. This format of “big names only” might seem to work as a viable method of educating the next generation of musicians, but the reality is that it only seems to function because those “big names” coincide with most—if not all—of the music played today by major orchestras. This seemingly untouchable, unwavering list of dead white cisgender men whose music is cycled and recycled year after year is called the western musical canon.

I find the canon’s existence to be extremely problematic, and there are several issues which my graduate school research strives to amend. However, in this article, I will focus on one issue that is particularly relevant during the month of June: the supporters of the canon’s feeble attempts to represent and acknowledge the LGBTQIA2S+ community, which just wants to be accurately represented. 

In my experience learning about music history, several canonical composers were either openly gay or presumed to be gay given what historians know about their personal lives. The “big names” that immediately come to mind are Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Aaron Copland. These two, as well as several other gay white cisgender men, are programmed in an attempt to remedy criticisms regarding the lack of diversity in the performance repertoire of orchestras. Similar actions are taken when challenged about a lack of gender or racial diversity. The same set of composers (e.g., Florence Price, Clara Schumann, William Grant Still, Amy Beach, etc.) are repeatedly used as if to check off a diversity box and get right back to the regularly scheduled programming of the same twenty-some white men whose music everyone has already heard. As important as representation is, it is being done in such a way that tokenizes the few composers who are chosen to represent their communities.

Using composers like Tchaikovsky in an attempt to represent the entire LGBTQIA2S+ community is problematic because gay white cisgender men cannot single-handedly represent this community; no one component of the acronym can. It goes significantly deeper than a generalization of the LGBTQIA2S+ community, however. Even articles like this one from 2015 with a list of fifteen queer composers often only list white cisgender composers, and very few of them are alive today. Lists of this nature, while the intentions may be good, ultimately perpetuate white supremacy as a pillar of music history, performance, and education. 

Not only does using Tchaikovsky as an LGBTQIA2S+ icon not fully represent the community, but it bolsters the mindset that it’s okay to put labels on someone who wasn’t out to the public so long as they’re dead. It is never okay to out someone, living or dead. Everyone’s decisions of privacy about their gender identity and sexual orientation are made for various reasons which are their prerogative only. As a result, if a composer wasn’t out during their lifetime, it’s not acceptable to portray them as a gay icon—even for pride month. Tchaikovsky’s music is popular—canonical, even—but to label him as gay so as to represent the LGBTQIA2S+ community results in missed opportunities to support living members of the community and to teach people about intersectional composers. While having representation in history is important, it’s equally important to respect people’s privacy—even if they’re dead—and not to push labels on people who never had the chance or support to make their own.

Further, the detailed discussions of Tchaikovsky’s private life in order to prove that he was a member of the LGBTQIA2S+ community are inappropriate. The language used is extremely graphic and sexual, and enforces the problematic practice of defining a person from a historically marginalized community by their private personal life. If Tchaikovsky is going to be used during pride month to represent gay white cisgender men, the discussion should center around his musical achievements, not his sex life. Drawing this level of detailed attention to his private life does not help to normalize diversity—in fact, it is alienating. Tchaikovsky undoubtedly faced struggles as a result of his sexual orientation in the surrounding social circumstances, but while it is important to acknowledge this, it should be done in a way that respects the intimate details of his private life. Similarly, it is important to avoid falling into the stereotype of the "tortured artist" when speaking about artists and their struggles. This is a topic for another article, but is covered well in The Art Assignment's October 4, 2018 episode.

It’s not just about Tchaikovsky, either. The five others I came across consistently in my research for this article are Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Benjamin Britten, Samuel Barber, and Francis Poulenc. Although these six composers (with Tchaikovsky included) are from different time periods and countries, they are also all white cisgender men. Some more recent attempts to represent more of the community have included a couple of white women, but the overall lack of intersectionality and dependence on the white patriarchy is extremely problematic and outlines my biggest criticism of the canon. Adding an LGBTQIA2S+ label to a canonical composer is not helpful if the goal is integrated diversity. It might seem like a good way to be inclusive, but it shows a lack of willingness to learn about other composers.

To reiterate, no single person can represent the LGBTQIA2S+ community as a whole, and that’s where I think so many are missing the mark. Tchaikovsky represents white gay men, which is a small subsection of the LGBTQIA2S+ community. While this is better than if there were no representation at all, this is simply not what is being asked of the music history, education, and performance communities.

Some defensive responses to this kind of criticism usually bring up the lack of music by LGBTQIA2S+ composers. A common statement, “there just aren’t enough good LGBTQIA2S+ composers” is incomplete; it should be “there just aren’t enough LGBTQIA2S+ composers in the canon.” If that statement is understood in full, the criticism should land directly on the canon and its lack of adaptation to societal change over the past decades. During the centuries when the canon was forming, it was far less common for LGBTQIA2S+ people to be out to the public in European-influenced western society. As a result, it makes sense that the canon itself does not have many composers within the community. However, over the past decades, more and more people have grown increasingly comfortable being out due to a growth in public acceptance and awareness, so the ability to properly represent the LGBTQIA2S+ community is becoming easier and easier. This also opens the door for more potential intersectionality in concert programming, which should be a goal for organizations making strides towards integrated diversity. It’s important to recognize, however, that intersectionality in concert programming cannot be achieved by choosing just one or two composers whose identities happen to fall into multiple underrepresented communities, as this can be tokenizing. It is important to build an awareness of what communities are not being seen or supported and work to form an inclusive space that values intersectionality and engages many people from the larger community.

Music is changing and evolving alongside our culture and society, but the western classical canon is holding on to tradition so strongly it’s becoming obsolete. While there is merit in performing, studying, and listening to these old works, how can we as a community of musicians boast the effect these famous composers have on today’s music while rarely programming, supporting, and performing music written by living composers? The solution? Program music by living composers in the LGBTQIA2S+ community—or, even better, commission a new work. Commit your organization’s funds to a composer who doesn’t look like the rest of the people in the canon. As much as we love Tchaikovsky, he is only a stepping stone towards integrated diversity, not the end point. 

Using already canonical composers to represent the LGBTQIA2S+ community might be easier, but if the desire for representation exists, the next step is research. Making these kinds of changes to the music performance and education communities isn’t always going to be easy, but the first step is to try to represent historically marginalized communities fully and accurately, and recognize that Tchaikovsky just isn’t going to be enough. As music educators, performers, scholars, and patrons, we need to work to help our industry grow and evolve alongside our society, even if it means putting in a little more time and effort to learn about new composers in order to achieve a more integrated diversity in the music we hear.

LGBTQIA2S+ Support Resources

The Trevor Project

The Human Rights Campaign

ACLU

GLAAD (Resource List)

GLSEN

It Gets Better

LGBTQIA2S+ Student Loan Resource List

Safe Zone Project Resource List

CDC LGBTQIA2S+ Youth Resource List

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