The sweet, warm scent of pollen
is not the only thing that fills the air
on campus during April. Along with
its arrival comes end-of-school-
year stress, fears over what to do
after the semester ends and the
dreaded backpacking season.
After reflecting on the fall
semester during course selection,
I realized that I felt empty from
a lack of music in my life. While I
enjoyed the one-credit chamber
music class I was taking and felt
grateful for the opportunity to play
my clarinet with others even just
one day a week, I missed the three-
plus hours I would spend on music
each day in high school.
It felt like my desire to have
more music in my life was seeping
out of me. My fingers would tap
restlessly, longing for the repetition
of practicing a challenging run on
the clarinet over and over again. I
missed being immersed in a single
four-beat measure, playing the
scale it was based in, switching
up the rhythm and trying to trick
myself into making a mistake —
until the pads of my fingers knew
only the right motion. I missed
the pulsating feeling in my lower
lip after a long practice session, a
reminder that I’m alive and I get to
create.
While I had no intentions of
pursuing a major or minor in music,
I felt empty without having several
hours of music in my day. After
feeling like part of my identity was
missing, I joined the University
Band and an a cappella group
second semester, and found others
who share the same sentiment.
Indeed, there are many students
in different colleges across campus
who dedicate much of their time
to music — who feel that it is such
an intrinsic part of their identity
they cannot let go of — but who’ve
decided against majoring in it.
Some of these people grew up
always being around music, while
others stepped into their musical
pursuits when they were drawn
in by the welcoming community. I
spoke with students who connected
their craft with their studies of
technology and politics, and who
have found a bit of home in the
music scene at the University of
Michigan.
***
Freshman Michael West is a
member of the Marching Band, the
Basketball Band and the University
Band, and he plays the trombone
and euphonium — all while being
a computer science major in the
College of Engineering.
In terms of comparing the
amount of time he spends on school
versus his music extracurriculars,
he explained, “Last semester when
marching band was happening,
I’d say it was probably 50:50, with
the time load of marching band
compared with … the homework for
the coding class I was in.”
“I’d say right now, because I’m
a freshman and my schedule is
basically just core engineering
classes that aren’t CS specific, I’m
spending more time doing music,”
West said.
For students like West, their
passion for music and their non-
music major are not isolated, but
rather, they complement each
other. They bridge the gap between
their studies and the music that is
intrinsic to their identity.
“My Engineering 100 section
is called Music Signal Processing.
Our final project is to build a music
app based off of what we’ve learned
in the class. And it’s all about like
learning the physics and the coding
behind music,” West explained.
West told me about research
currently
being
conducted
at
the University that connects the
fields of music and engineering
with machine learning models
that create computer-generated
chorales:
“Basically you give a computer …
a bunch of chorales, and in that case
it would spit out its own chorale
in that style. It learns the rules
and patterns by itself and tries to
recreate that or something similar.”
Claire Arp, an LSA sophomore
majoring
in
economics
with
an intended minor in Native
American studies, plays several
dozen instruments as an auxiliary
percussionist and a guitarist.
At
the
beginning
of
our
conversation, Arp proudly showed
me her recent purchase.
“It is a Squier Stratocaster.”
She held up a shiny electric
guitar, turning it so I could see the
instrument from all angles.
“It’s very pretty … if I was given
the choice to save it or my own life,
I would have to think about it for a
little bit.”
Arp, whose main interests are
political advocacy and policy, also
found little dissonance between
her musical passion and her non-
music major. She noted the parallels
in how she approaches her study
of music and of politics, and the
similarities between the fields.
“The way that I have learned
how to do music is mostly through
finding some type of music that I
really enjoy, some song or album
or artist that I really like, and just
absorbing that and figuring out
what they are doing in particular.
And that is what I started doing
with
politics
—
I’m
finding
political figures and advocates and
commentators that I like ... and kind
of absorbing how they do things,”
Arp said.
These kinds of modeling, intense
observation skills and desire to pull
things apart and find meaning,
works across disciplines.
In my own statistics class,
I’ve noticed that the process of
writing code for a graph is just
like working through a fast run
on the clarinet. When I’m coding
a graph, I start by cleaning the
data, adding rudimentary labels to
my variables and filtering out the
ones I don’t want, along with any
responses where the answer was
“N/A.” Once the data set is cleaned,
I write \n in my labs() command to
give myself a symmetrical title, use
stat_smooth() to make the graph
less noisy and change my colors
to make it as visually pleasing and
easy to interpret as possible.
I work through the same steps
when practicing the clarinet: I
first have to go through the basic
motions of learning the notes and
counting out the rhythm so that
I can play it cleanly. But then it’s
on to smaller elements. I have
to make sure that the frenetic
movement of my fingers does not
get sloppy and allow for a listener
to hear the metal keys hitting the
wood joints. And I make sure that
I don’t change my embouchure
and air speed as I meander above
and below the register. Just like
I might experiment with geom_
violin or geom_bar commands to
see how my data looks on different
types of graphs, I try out alternate
fingerings that give me a smoother
sound. It is the practice of focusing
on these small elements that makes
all the difference.
Fitting in
When I came to campus, I quickly
became aware of the stereotypes
surrounding each major — of what
it meant to be a business major
or an engineer, a math major or a
musical-theater student.
When thinking about what to
study, I considered the associations
people have with each major and
whether I fit into them.
A fun and notably accurate
example of these characterizations
is found on the Instagram meme
account @cccb_umich. The page
takes
characters
from
“Peppa
Pig,” “Mean Girls,” “Monsters
University” and “Sesame Street”
and assigns them to a major that fits
their personality and overall vibe.
I
enjoy
scrolling
through
these posts and seeing if I or the
people I know are similar to these
characters. After all, Peppa is
undeniably film, Janis Ian is clearly
sociology and of course, Big Bird,
with his curiosity and big smile, is
environmental science.
But beyond these light-hearted
categorizations of students based
on their interests are harmful
preconceptions.
Trying
to
encompass all of the personalities
and layered interests of people in
each major into one archetype can
make people feel that the major
isn’t for them.
But majors and the labels they
come with don’t necessarily box
people in. For some people, the
opposite is true.
Quinn Newman, a sophomore
majoring in RC drama and film,
television and media (FTVM) and
minoring in music, explained that
their music and theater-oriented
majors gave them an opportunity to
lean into their full identity.
“The
performing
arts
are
definitely
a
very
safe
space
for people who are queer and
nonbinary like me … I think when I
started theater and music I had no
idea what being gay or nonbinary
was, I was that young and I did not
have that sort of education. But you
know, the (theater) community …
does tend to gear towards a lot of
people in the LGBTQ community,
so it’s definitely a place that I feel
like really allowed to be myself,”
they said.
They spoke about a recent
production in which the structure
of the roles allowed them to
perform as their authentic self.
“As someone who is nonbinary,
it’s
definitely
been
a
great
opportunity here to play roles
that aren’t necessarily specifically
gendered ... Recently I played Love
in the RC Players production of
‘Everybody,’ and I think almost
every character in that show
has no gender, because they are
all concepts like friendship and
kinship and love and death so, it
was such a great and versatile play
to do because anybody could have
been cast in any role. And I think
it was really great to play love as
myself rather than as a prewritten
version of love,” Newman said.
A validating connection between
oneself and art can form in all sorts
of spheres, regardless of whether or
not you happen to be majoring in
that genre of art. Arp, for example,
highlighted
the
connection
between her identity as a trans
woman to hyperpop, a modern style
of music.
She described hyperpop as “the
modern autotune track type of
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, April 20, 2022 —6
S T A T E M E N T
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
You open up Spotify and start to
type “feminist” into the search bar.
Four letters in, and the first two
playlists that pop up are “feminist
rage” and “angry feminist music.”
You watch on live television as
Lady Gaga says, “I don’t believe
in the glorification of murder. I
do believe in the empowerment
of women.” You scroll through
YouTube, listening to feminist
poetry, and notice that nearly every
woman either starts yelling or
describes scenes of violence in her
writing. Halsey does it at the New
York Women’s March. You watch a
woman scale the Statue of Liberty
on TV to protest the separation of
immigrant families.
If you’re like me, you may see
these things and begin to notice a
trend. The women and feminists
you see on TV and online are often
portrayed as angry, especially
when
fighting
against
their
oppression. Mainstream
media has fashioned
our
21st-century
feminist to be
synonymous
with
the
dreaded “angry
woman” trope.
But if you’re
like me, you may
also
begin to see how feminism is often
linked with anger, and how rage
is may actually be pushing the
movement forward.
The origins behind women’s
relationship
with
anger
are
tricky. Oftentimes, women are
told that anger and its subsequent
expressions
are
“unladylike,”
while their male counterparts
are applauded and praised for
it. It seems like anger is a source
of power for men, when for me,
as a woman, I’ve always felt it
as a weakness: It’s something I
shouldn’t be feeling, something I
should be hiding, something that’s
never gotten me anywhere. Once,
I got a little heated in a fight with
a friend, and turned around and
found that my friends were saying
I was acting “crazy.” I tried arguing
with a group of boys my age, once,
about an issue I was passionate
about. When I started to get mad,
they just started to laugh.
I’m not the only one who feels
this way. In her song “The
Man,”
Taylor
Swift
adds
a
melody to this
phenomenon
when
she
says,
“it’s
okay if you’re
mad” (only if
you’re a man).
Rebecca
Traister,
author of “Good and Mad: The
Revolutionary Power of Women’s
Anger,” said in an interview with
C-SPAN that while anger is a
driving force for male politicians,
it often hinders female politicians.
Traister points out that the media
will often harp on women in power
(the Hillary Clintons and Michelle
Obamas) for not smiling or being
mildly impolite.
Studies have shown that when
men show anger, they’re applauded
for it. When women do it, they’re
shamed, shunned and avoided.
It’s suggested that, during their
competing presidential campaigns,
Donald Trump was allowed to
be as angry as he wanted, but the
moment Hillary Clinton slipped
up, she was crucified.
And yet, anger remains a core
part of the modern feminist
movement. In the second wave
of American feminism, female
activism was characterized as
“angry” and “unladylike,” and that
carried on throughout the other
three waves of feminism. And yet,
the movement grew to be even
more angry in response. Women
led
protests
for
reproductive
rights and the Equal Rights
Amendment. It was likely in this
early rage that women found their
power — it was harder to ignore
them when they were mad. That
anger still exists now. Since the
’80s, expressions of feminism and
female empowerment in media
are often tied to anger, and
sometimes the utmost
culmination of anger:
violence.
Lady
Gaga’s
quote
says
enough
—
sometimes,
violence
in
movies
serves
as
the
primary
expression
of
female
rage
and
is
an
empowering
force for female
characters. Think
of the plotlines in
“Gone Girl”, “Kill Bill”
or “Promising Young Woman” —
their anger is the narrative arc.
So
why
is
feminism
so
inextricably linked to anger?
I’ve dabbled in poetry, and I’ve
found that most of my poems find
their way to an angry place. I’ve
also found that these pieces are
some of the hardest for me to share.
Why? Because I don’t want to be
seen as angry? Because society has
taught me that anger isn’t for me,
because it’s not attractive?
And yet I still get angry. In fact,
I get angry a lot. I listen to angry
music, write angry poetry, I scream
and cry in the mirror. And you
know what? I’ve found that anger
is liberating. I feel as if I have been
told all my life that anger is not for
me — so reclaiming those feelings I
have been told not to have has not
only made me feel better, it has
made me feel human.
That’s why I think feminism is
angry. Because feminism is about
change, but it’s also about making
women feel better. And guess what
— anger does that.
The Anger-Cry
When I get angry, I cry. And that
sucks.
Crying when you’re angry is
a perfectly reasonable response
to an emotional situation. Tears
are supposed to relieve emotions
when you become overwhelmed
by them, and anger is not excluded
from that. And yet, crying when
you’re angry is one of the hardest
things to experience because you’re
effectively undermining yourself.
In my experience, crying isn’t
perceived as an expression of anger
— it’s an expression of weakness,
of sadness, of vulnerability, which
isn’t exactly how you always want
to be perceived when you’re mad.
And then you get mad at yourself
because you’re crying, and because
you’re mad at yourself, you start
crying even harder. It can be a
vicious cycle.
But how else would I express my
anger? By yelling, screaming? I’ve
never felt confident in that form
of expression — but why? Why do
traditional forms of anger feel so
foreign to me?
The most I can gather is
because at the origins of women’s
relationship with anger is the
systemic
mistreatment
and
pathologizing of women. Female
expression of anger has historically
been
linked
with
hysteria,
forcing angry women into mental
institutions or undermining their
concerns. If you think that that was
a long time ago and is no longer
prevalent now, might I point out
that women who express their
anger now are still labeled as “crazy
bitches.” Which, again, undermines
the valid thoughts and feelings that
push women toward anger.
Soraya
Chemlay,
author
of
“Rage Becomes Her: The Power
of Women’s Anger,” claims that
girls are rarely taught to be angry,
which rings true to my experience.
I can’t recall my parents ever
talking about anger. Sadness, yes,
happiness, of course, but never
anger. As Chemaly also claims,
women are often pushed to find
out how to express anger through
watching other people.
But how does one do that? My
mom was never one to get angry,
and neither were my grandmas, my
aunts, my female cousins. I watched
TV, and only the female characters
I was supposed to dislike (the
Regina Georges and the Cruella de
Vils) ever showed anger, and when
they did they were labeled as a
“bitch” or “crazy.”
All this points toward a clash
between traditional ideas of how
women should act and how we
should be expressing our anger.
Women experience anger, no doubt
about it, and yet we’re usually not
taught how to express it. The only
ways in which women are taught
to be angry are through the media,
which
encourages
women
to
express their anger in unhealthy
ways.
What might this all culminate
in? A feeling in most women that
we can’t be angry, that anger isn’t
meant for us, that even if we do feel
it, we must hide it, shove it back
down our throats, even when it’s
choking us.
It seems like the modern feminist
movement has decided it’s time for
the Heimlich.
Anger as Revolutionary
When women are told that they
can’t be angry, being angry becomes
a revolutionary act in and of itself.
That is why 21st-century feminism
chooses to recognize anger as
one of its most valuable weapons.
There’s something liberating in
doing something we’ve been told
to suppress, to freely express our
emotions to their fullest potential.
I think that’s why so many
women like myself find comfort
in angry media. I snap for the
poet standing on stage, shouting
about her life experiences. I’ve dug
through the internet to find better,
more accurate representations of
female anger. I watch these women
and live vicariously through their
anger. I express my own anger by
watching, by listening to them. You
might do that too, and that’s alright.
Chemaly, a prominent feminist
author, pointed out in an interview
that anger is just another human
emotion, and that it doesn’t have
to be negative unless we make
it so. When people turn anger
into real violence, or express it
negatively, anger pushes us back.
But when people express their
anger in healthy ways, through art,
it can become a powerful tool for
expression and change.
I think feminism might be doing
that for women. By providing
women a space to be angry, the
movement might just help liberate
them, or at least make them feel
better. I know that when I’m
angry and upset, if I listen to that
“feminist rage” playlist, or I listen
to that angry poetry, I feel better. I
feel seen. I feel like I can brave the
world, like I’m finally coughing up
the thing that’s been keeping me
from breathing.
Maybe you can do that, too. Next
time you have a bad day, let yourself
be angry. Next time you feel like
you’ve been wronged, be angry.
Don’t let anyone take those feelings
away from you. Feel what you feel
and turn it into something useful.
Write a poem. Draw a picture. Fall
onto your bed and scream into your
pillow. Whatever you do, just make
sure you’re doing one thing: being
angry.
Anger is a powerful thing, and so
are you.
RILEY HODDER
Statement Correspondent
An ode to musical non-music majors
CAITLIN LYNCH
Statement Correspondent
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Page Design by Sarah Chung
Women are angry: Here’s why
Design by Leilani Baylis-Washington
Page Design by Sarah Chung