2021 | Eris DeJarnett

Fall 2021, from a tired nonbinary adjunct

There are ten student-accessible all-gender restrooms on the campus I taught at in person for fall 2021. As in, there are ten toilets total. Four of them are in the main administrative building, the southernmost point on campus (and two of those are in part of the building generally reserved for athletics, where other students likely won’t be wandering in). One is newly-converted from a binary-gender restroom in the computer lab (thank you, Facilities!), housed in the building right next door to main admin. Another is in the building across from it, in the southwest corner of campus; this stall is the only one I can think of that is easily located and just off a very open space. Two small satellite-campus/early college program buildings in the far northeast corner contain one each, though they’re only likely to be used by students in those programs and sometimes require a faculty keycard for entry. The final two are housed in a single academic building in the far northwest corner. Something like five buildings—that make up the heart (and center!) of campus—have no gender-neutral restrooms available to students. From any of those buildings, including the performing arts center and the library, you’re likely looking at at least a five-minute walk, round-trip, to the nearest all-gender stall.

Oh, and that information isn’t actually housed anywhere. They aren’t labeled on a map. Faculty and admin aren’t told where students can find these stalls. Students definitely aren’t told. In fact, the only reason I can point you at ten stalls (only eight of which are realistically accessible to most abled students) is because for the first five weeks of the fall semester, I spent my hundred-minute breaks between classes poking my head into buildings and offices to look for them.

See, I didn’t know where I could actually go to the bathroom, and if I didn’t know, I figured my nonbinary students didn’t, either.

Eleven pages of ICD's 2020 internal review, layered on top of each other, fill the frame. They are heavily marked up, with underlines, scribbles in the margin, and seven colors of highlighter denoting important sections of text. The number "3" is overlaid over the picture in a large black serif font.

The ICD Internal Review Part 3: Resign, Rob (And Other Big Takeaways)

[A note from 2023 Eris: As my writing about the Institute for Composer Diversity (unfortunately) continues to expand, I’ve given up and created an entire blog category for these analyses. You can now find all my posts focusing on ICD by clicking here. Posts that mention them in passing but do not focus on their actions specifically will still be tagged, but you’ll need to search “ICD” in the bar at the bottom of the page—and likely scroll a little—to find those. Thanks!]

Welcome back! Today we’re wrapping up our multi-day adventure through the ICD review. If you haven’t read the previous installments, I recommend checking out Part 1 and Part 2. After we conclude our point-by-point walkthrough, I’m going to mention some major concerns I didn’t get to talk about previously. As always, thanks for being here! I would’ve given up at Point 10 without y’all.

Click here for an unmarked, unedited PDF of the review as it was published on January 29, 2021.
My introduction, ICD’s introduction, and Points 1-14: see Part 1
Points 15-30: see Part 2
Section 5 (cont.): Feedback on Rob Deemer and ICD Leadership
- Point 31: Rob Isn’t Qualified. Period.
Section 6: Systemic Issues in Classical Music
- Point 32: Acknowledge Colonization’s Impacts
- Point 33: Antiracism, Not DEI
Section 7: Additional Feedback
Folks, we made it to (their) conclusion
- Expected Timelines
- The Communications Coordinator(/Specialist)
What’s Left? My Closing Thoughts
Works Cited

The ICD Internal Review Part 2: Holy Plagiarism, Batman

Greetings, one and all, and welcome back to our multi-day escapade through the ICD internal review. If you’re new here, fear not! You can go back and read Part 1 to catch up on what we’ve discussed previously. Today, we’re finishing our look at ICD’s communications breakdown; we’ll also discuss ICD’s impact on composers, touch briefly on tokenism, and begin the long slog through the leadership review. I can’t say any one part of the report is the review’s darkest hour, but today’s chunk is certainly a contender. Let’s dive in.

Click here for an unmarked, unedited PDF of the review as it was published on January 29, 2021.
My introduction, ICD’s introduction, and Points 1-14: see Part 1
Section 2 (cont.): Communication
Section 3: Composer Assistance/Role of ICD for Composers
Section 4: Education/Tokenism
- Point 26: Educate Your Users
Section 5: Feedback on Rob Deemer and ICD Leadership
Points 31-39, other major concerns, and works cited: see Part 3

The ICD Internal Review Part 1: There’s No Policy Like No Policy

Good evening, folks, and welcome to my analysis of the 2020 ICD Internal Review. After spending months systematically failing the marginalized composers they claim to advocate for, the Institute for Composer Diversity has finally taken time to stop making non-apologies and engage in some institutional introspection. While this internal review should’ve been external, this document is the most comprehensive look we’ve ever gotten at ICD’s policies, goals, and priorities. On the surface, it looks good; they grapple with many criticisms from the past year, and they make some effective changes. However, a deeper dive reveals a heavily-plagiarized document that hides major issues while further stigmatizing the composers in its care.

Overall, the review reflects the legacy of performative activism ICD has grown into. I believe the review team did their best, but the Institute doesn’t walk the walk. This hamstrings their efforts—particularly while Director Rob Deemer refuses to relinquish control.

That sucks, because I wanted better. I used to be listed in the database; Rob informally recruited me to be a data-entry lackey when I met him at the International Women’s Brass Conference in 2019. Hell, I loaned ICD one of my blog posts last spring before realizing the full extent of their harm! I want to believe this organization that gets mentions in the New York Times is doing intersectional, antiracist work to tangibly better the lives of marginalized composers. I want to believe I don’t need to warn my band director friends every time I hear they’re looking for a new batch of ensembles to recruit. But I can’t believe in ICD when they have the chance to do something right yet squander it with linguistic carelessness and inconsistent policy decisions.

It’s important that we analyze both ICD’s sweeping policy choices and the little wording decisions they make along the way. Many of ICD’s (and Rob’s) mistakes in the past year relate to concepts many of us learn over time. As a major organization dedicated to representing marginalized populations, it’s their responsibility to already know better, and I’m going to point that out a lot. When others have made the critiques publicly before, I’ll link to those posts.

But the knowledge I’m sharing here is for you, too—because with the right tools, you are capable of being a powerful force for change. And I’m really glad you’re here.

Commissions 2020: Expanding My Horizons

My dear readers, friends, colleagues, and peers,

I’ve had the time of my life in 2019 working with a series of commissioners on new works and bringing many of my 2018 pieces to the stage for the first time. By my best count, I’ve written almost an hour of music this year, and I’ve begun to explore new artistic directions that really excite and challenge me. As we move toward 2020 (and onward!), I’m looking forward to continuing to build on my current practice and dive deeper into my own voice.

Over the last several years, it’s become increasingly clear that the work I love creating the most doesn’t fall under standard “contemporary classical” boundaries. Realistically, most of it falls somewhere under the New Music umbrella, which does save space for classical- and jazz-adjacent things but allows me to pick and choose which pieces of tradition or time-traveling sonic nonsense I want to include alongside the modern developments that make my heart sing 24/7. For people who know me well, this isn’t a huge surprise, but the wonderful folks who commission me aren’t even always people I’ve met. (Which, for the record, is amazing.) I love working with new collaborators just as much as I enjoy reconnecting with folks from years past, and my catalog is starting to reflect that in some really exciting ways.

That said, my compositional voice today doesn’t sound like it did two or three or five years ago, and as I continue trying to move toward the artist I want to be, I need to point that out. Those of you who knew me (and my writing) in undergrad might not know how I sound now (unless you’ve been keeping up with me online, in which case, you’re awesome). While there are still pieces in my back catalog I love dearly and plenty more I’m still proud of, it’s worth pointing out that I’m not necessarily writing that way all the time anymore. Commissions might involve text alongside notes or in lieu of them entirely. I’m playing with noises and soundscapes and text instructions and concert-theater-aligned ideas, and while some of that does still involve regular notes and rhythms, it isn’t always in the way you’d think. (Exhibit A: People Talk.)

And as my commission calendars start to organize themselves for 2020 and 2021, I’m making an effort to continually work toward making the art at the top of my wish list whenever possible (or, at least, art that’s consistent with my current voice). And while some of that is work for me or some of the long-term collaborators I work with, I’m hoping some of that will be for all of you, too. These might not be pieces you can turn around in a month and a half for a recital (or they might be, but not for the reasons you think). These might be pieces that require you to search as deeply within yourself and your own practice as I’m searching in mine. They might not be instantly-consumable, you-can-throw-this-together-in-a-couple-rehearsals bites of music and sound—and if they are, they’ll probably be utilizing different skill sets and making different requests of your musicianship.

Tag: 2021