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Songs in Black and Lavender: Race, Sexual Politics, and Women's Music (review)

As long as there has been a category of music labeled “women’s music,” there have been debates about that label’s meaning. Women’s music emerged in the early 1970s through efforts of primarily white lesbian and feminist musicians and activists creating music by, for, and about women. A subculture of the women’s movement, women’s music was politically associated with radical feminism and its view that significant social reform is possible only when the patriarchal capitalist system and values of our society are uprooted. The desire for respite from and repudiation of that social system contributed to the creation of women’s music festivals, which continue to this day, albeit in a social and political context quite different from that of the 1970s. Put another way, women’s music is “neither dead nor what it used to be” (p. 177). Musically, women’s music has sometimes been referred to as WGWG, or, White Girl with Guitar, an impression created by singer/songwriters with acoustic guitar such as Cris Williamson, Holly Near, and Alix Dobkin, who were indeed WGWGs and immensely popular in the early women’s music community. This view of women’s music reduced its definition to folk-style songs with women-identified lyrics and often genderized instruments—for example, horns were male, while piano and acoustic the subjects with footnotes, the presentation and understanding of topics would have been more inclusive and connected, especially for a reader who chooses to read just one or two chapters rather than the whole volume. Other questions about references arise in the appendix. Most operas are catalogued as “notable” operas, most likely because of their longevity and number of performances. A more comprehensive list— including less successful works—would have been helpful because some of them are mentioned in the chapters, and because, after all, the premise of the volume is to study Parisian institutions and pro ductions in their context, regardless of their accomplishment. A comment on accuracy in a translation to better appreciate the nuances the original writer was trying to express: in the translation of an article by Henri Blaze about Halévy, Hallman writes, “Thanks to the personal influence that he acquired in the administration of the Opera,” choosing to use “acquired” to translate “s’est acquise” in the original text (p. 44). A more accurate translation, and one that would have helped the author to advance her point, could have been “built up,” implying Halévy’s own efforts to affirm himself. Another observation, related to the cultural content of a term and the conventions it implies, concerns the chapter on Chollet. While listing role types in the intersection of character and actor, Bara chooses not to give the reader the original French version of the list (p. 20). Since the words are names and not concepts, this is a nonissue until we come to his comment on “breeches roles” as being dictated solely by the characteristics of the costume (pants), rather than by voice type, acting, and physical appearance of a female singer in a young male role. Besides such minor suggestions that might enhance the contributors’ narratives and by no means alter their respective contents, Music, Theater, and Cultural Transfer is a formidable resource for all readers. The brilliant writers and editors have, without a doubt, succeeded in presenting an instructive, insightful and accessible glance at French opera, its influences, and its impact.