There's a fine line between sharing one's voice and selling one's voice. There are plenty of businesses that would have singer/songwriters conform to safe and easy ways of greasing the big machine. I watched the uncontainable Ani DiFranco on stage, once, accompanied by drummer Andy Stochansky, and thought about all the industrial alterations one could make:
Folk singer/agitator/organizer U. Utah Phillips pointed out to me that in many cultures, the unfortunate symbol of power is the control of the natural resources, and that women are seen as a natural resource. Women thus serve as the currency of status, like diamonds and real estate. Hair color, age, and overbite are assessed from the trading floor. When the commercial media get ahold of the hottest commodities, they go crazy. And so do the women who scramble to define themselves as the market does: from the outside in.
At some point, I picked up the nasty habit of defining myself from the outside in. When I was in college, I didn't think I was a real woman. On campus, real women had "lovers" with whom they "talked and cried until three in the morning," after which they had "incredible sex." Or so I thought.
Then I encountered the infamous wall. It was the first stall of the women's bathroom in the campus center. It was a mosaic of scrawl and counter-scribbling. "I bore myself." "I haven't had sex in two years." "I've never had sex." "I never felt like an idiot in Cleveland." "White feminism sucks." All of these had comments attached, "Good for you," or "Call this hotline," or "I wish I'd been celibate. You're lucky. I spent two years with a really bad lover!!!!!" to which was written, "Try women!" and the reply was, "It was a woman!!!!!" I found myself within this wall of voices, because it was simply a diversity of voices. This collection of exceptions proves that there is no rule.
All the women in this book, whether they achieved mainstream or alternative
success, have a voice that they've brought to the table. They weren't created
for a market. They themselves created pools of recognition, simply by lifting
things up and saying, "Hey, look what I've found." Look what I found in
this relationship, this region, this field, or just this moment.
This process of recognition renews and perpetuates itself. Every voice
that claims its unique ground leads to more voices that render deeper subtleties.
Each nuance empowers and gives rise to more voices again. Sometimes, as
with Sweet Honey in the Rock, there is an effort to
reinvigorate the life-affirming voices of the past, while continuously
taking on contemporary issues. Recognizing our hidden histories gives even
more depth and strength to this movement, which in essence is not a movement
but just an understanding of "We all...everyone of us."
It's a very exciting time to be making music. There is a growing audience for the rich traditions of music that don't necessarily make it on pop radio, and there are many networks, from cafes to cyberspace, that struggle to uphold the integrity of these diverse musical strains.
I hope that in seeing the artists behind the art, you will find yourself
somewhere, and that you, like me, will find springboards of possibility.
Verbally and non-verbally defined, we all have a voice. We are making the
world better by telling our stories and cross-pollinating with many levels
of community. Perhaps this is why I was struck by something Marianne Faithfull
said. Laura asked her how she got sober in 1995. Faithful replied, "I think
I was actually going to lose my voice. That was the one thing I couldn't
bear. I didn't mind losing everything else-my looks, my life, my child...my
money, my lover-I didn't mind that. But I was not prepared to lose my voice."