Category Archives: Essay

I contributed to the Misogyny In Music report – it’s sadly unsurprising that its recommendations have been rejected

Photo by cottonbro studio

Sally Anne Gross, University of Westminster

The Misogyny In Music report, published in January 2024 by the Women And Equalities Committee, was the first major report into the working conditions of women and girls working across the UK music sector.

The scope of the report, which I contributed to, was ambitious. It covered performers, songwriters, audio engineers, major music companies and institutions and both classical and popular music education. The report revealed the level of inequality across the music supply chain and the sexism, misogyny, bullying and sexual abuse that women and girls experienced in their working lives.

As part of the report, back in September 2023, the BBC broadcaster DJ and author Annie Macmanus (better known as Annie Mac) gave evidence to the House of Commons committee, calling the music business a “boys’ club” that is “rigged against women”.

The report was widely heralded as a turning point. Finally, the boys’ club of the music industry was laid bare. But on Friday, April 19, the government issued its response to the report’s recommendations – a wholesale rejection.


This article is part of our State of the Arts series. These articles tackle the challenges of the arts and heritage industry – and celebrate the wins, too.


With the publication of the report and its recommendations, it seemed for a moment as if women’s needs might be being addressed given the cross-party support the committee had garnered.

The recommendations called for legislative change to increase protection for women in several different areas: from amending the Equalities Act to provide freelancers the same rights as employees, to prohibiting the use of nondisclosure agreements “in cases involving … sexual abuse, sexual harassment or sexual misconduct”.

The government argues that there are already legal safeguards in place that make nondisclosure agreements unenforceable if they are used in order to protect perpetrators.

Other recommendations include: reform of parental leave to include freelancers, that public funding and licensing of music venues should be made conditional on those premises taking steps to tackle gender bias, sexual harassment and abuse. In terms of education, the report recommends investment in training for women in areas such as audio engineering where the gender imbalance is particularly acute. The report further recommends education for school children and specifically boys “on issues of misogyny, sexual harassment and gender-based violence”.

So why did the government reject the recommendations?

Annie Mac | Radio 1’s Free Party at Ushuaia Ibiza Beach Hotel by radio1interactive

The government’s response

The government’s argument was that there is no need for additional action, because action is already in play. It said: “This response has set out the many initiatives that the government is taking forward or the policies that are currently in place to provide legal protections for women in the workforce, including in the music industry.”

The response from women and commentators across the music industry has been one of great disappointment and almost disbelief.

“It’s incredibly disheartening to hear the government deny the reality of the endemic misogyny and discrimination that women face in the UK music industry”, said Nadia Khan, the founder of the charity Women in CTRL.

But should we be surprised by this government’s response? As a woman and a mother who has been working in the UK music industry for over 30 years I can say from personal experience it’s been – at best – frustrating and exhausting.

How the industry treats women

Sexism and misogyny are a daily occurrence in the industry. In 1993, I became the first woman to be appointed as an artists and repertoire manager (A&R) at Mercury Records UK. A&R is one of the most prestigious roles in any record label.

On my first day, all the men – even the ones I knew – stared silently through their office blinds as I walked into my office. Not one came out to greet me. I felt I was not considered one of them. Now there are women working in music companies in all kinds of positions from A&R to heads of departments, but they are still not treated as equal to men, as the report clearly found.

I have now been teaching in a music department of a university for nearly two decades. I have seen how slow the process of change is and how resistant institutions can be to change.

Those who contributed to the report are disappointed that the government has rejected its recommendations. Photo by Marlene Leppänen

When I started teaching, just as when I started out as a music manager and independent record label owner, I was surrounded by men. As a woman in the industry, you become accustomed to coping; managing either by being invisible and unheard or deflecting unwanted advances and patronising comments with humour and a smile. Sometimes you just lose your temper, and sometimes you make a quick getaway.

In 2016 I became a researcher focusing on the impact of inequalities on mental health and the working conditions of the music industries. My co-author and researcher George Musgrave and I published our research in two reports for the charity Help Musicians UK, and a book entitled Can Music Make You Sick? Measuring the Price of Musical Ambition (2020). In it, we examined the relationship between poor working conditions and bad mental health.

We were honoured to contribute to the Misogyny In Music report. We, like everybody else that contributed, were hoping that the data would count and that legislative action for change would follow. The government response is disappointing, to say the least. Are we surprised? No. But we will we keep on fighting.


Sally Anne Gross, Reader in Music Business, University of Westminster

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

With Beyoncé’s foray into country music, the genre may finally break free from the stereotypes that have long dogged it

Snapshot from an ‘official visualizer’ video on YouTube for Texas Hold ‘Em by Beyoncé.

William Nash, Middlebury

When Beyoncé released “Texas Hold ‘Em,” the first single from her new country album, “Cowboy Carter,” it elicited a mix of admiration and indignation.

This is not her first foray into the genre, but it is her most successful and controversial entry. With “Texas Hold ‘Em,” Beyoncé became the first Black woman to have a No. 1 song on the country charts. At the same time, country music stations like KYKC in Oklahoma initially refused to play the record because it was “not country.”

Many non-listeners stereotype country music as being white, politically conservative, militantly patriotic and rural. And you can certainly find artists and songs that fit that bill.

But the story of country has always been more complicated, and debates about race and authenticity in country are nothing new; they’ve plagued country artists, record companies and listeners for over a century.

In the official visualizer for ‘16 Carriages,’ Beyoncé dons a bejeweled cowboy hat.

As someone who researches and teaches Black culture and country music, I hope that Beyoncé’s huge profile will change the terms of this debate.

To me, Beyoncé’s Blackness is not the major bone of contention here.

Instead, the controversy is about her “countryness,” and whether a pop star can authentically cross from one genre to the next. Lucky for Beyoncé, it’s been done plenty of times before. And her songs are arriving at a time when more and more Black musicians are charting country hits.

Cross-racial collaboration

Americans have long viewed country music – or, as it was known before World War II, hillbilly music – as largely the purview of white musicians. This is partly by design. The “hillbilly” category was initially created as a counterpart to the “race records” aimed at Black audiences from the 1920s to the 1940s.

But from the start, the genre has been influenced by Black musical styles and performances.

White country music superstars like The Carter Family and Hank Williams learned tunes and techniques from Black musicians Lesley Riddle and Rufus “Tee-Tot” Payne, respectively. Unfortunately, few recordings of Black country artists from the early 20th century exist, and most of those who did record had their racial identity masked.

Johnny Cash’s mentor, Gus Cannon, proves a rare exception. Cannon recorded in the 1920s with his jug band, Cannon’s Jug Stompers, and he had a second wave of success during the folk revival of the 1960s.

Cannon (left) with Cannon’s Jug Stompers, c. 1928. By Herald Mosley – blues.com, Public Domain

Similarly, the genre has always included a mix of Anglo-American and Black American musical instruments. The banjo, for instance, has African roots and was brought to America by enslaved people.

In the case of “Texas Hold ‘Em,” which begins with a lively banjo riff, Beyoncé has partnered with Grammy- and Pulitzer Prize-winning MacArthur Fellow Rhiannon Giddens, America’s foremost contemporary Black banjoist and banjo scholar. (I would argue that this choice alone undercuts objections about the track’s country bona fides.)

Different tacks to navigate race

By releasing these tracks, Beyoncé joins performers like Charley Pride and Mickey Guyton – country stars whose success has forced them to confront questions about the links between their racial and musical identities.

Pride, whose hits include “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’,” “Just Between You and Me” and “Is Anybody Going to San Antone?,” became, in 1971, the first Black American to win the Country Music Association’s Entertainer of the Year award. In 2000, he was the first Black American inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

But throughout his career, Pride resisted attempts to emphasize his Blackness. From his 1971 hit “I’m Just Me” to his 2014 refusal to discuss his racial “firsts” with a Canadian talk show host, Pride consistently strove to be seen as a country artist who happened to be Black, rather than as a country musician whose Blackness was central to his public persona and work.

At the other end of the spectrum is Guyton, who gained recognition and acclaim for songs like her 2020 hit “Black Like Me” – a frank, heartfelt commentary on the challenges she’s faced as a Black woman pursuing a career in Nashville, Tennessee.

Both Pride and Guyton reflect the zeitgeists of their respective decades. In the wake of the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, Pride’s “colorblind” approach enabled him to circumvent existing racial tensions. He chose his material with an eye toward averting controversy – for example, he eschewed love ballads, lest they be understood as promoting interracial relationships. At the start of his career, when his music was released without artist photos, Pride made jokes about his “permanent tan” to put surprised white concertgoers at ease.

Guyton’s work, on the other hand, resonated with the national outrage over the murder of George Floyd and tapped into the celebration of Black empowerment that was part of the ethos of Black Lives Matter.

And yet I cannot think of another Black musical artist with Beyoncé’s cultural cache who has taken up country music.

Some might argue that Ray Charles, whose groundbreaking 1962 album, “Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music,” brought legions of new listeners to country artists, is a forerunner of Beyoncé’s in this regard.

Without diminishing Charles’ significance, I believe Beyoncé’s new album outshines Charles’ landmark recording.

Black country in the 21st century

Over the past five years, in addition to the buzz over Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road,” a significant number of Black musicians – including Darius Rucker, Kane Brown and Jimmie Allen, to name a few – have charted country hits.

The Black Opry Revue, founded in 2021 by music journalist Holly G, produces tours that bring together rising Black country musicians, giving each more exposure than performing individually could.

Luke Combs’ cover of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” topped the country charts and made Chapman the first Black woman to win the Country Music Association’s Song of the Year award. Their performance of the song at the 2024 Grammys went viral, demonstrating both the fluidity of genres and the power of collaboration.

Beyoncé’s loyal fan base, known colloquially as “the Beyhive,” has already propelled “Texas Hold ‘Em” to the top of the pop and country charts. While there may continue to be pushback from traditionalist country music gatekeepers, country radio executives holding sway over national broadcast networks are calling Beyoncé’s new songs “a gift to country music.”

As more and more listeners hear her directive to “just take it to the dance floor,” perhaps the sonic harmony of the country genre will translate to a new way of thinking about whether socially constructed categories, like race, ought to segregate art.

And what a revolution that would be.

This is an updated version of an article originally published on February 22, 2024.

William Nash, Professor of American Studies and English, Middlebury

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.


Through Cable Street Beat, music became a potent antifascist weapon against the far right

The Cable Street Mural by Dave Binnington Savage, Paul Butler, Ray Walker and Desmond Rochfort (1979 – 1983). Amanda Slater/Wiki Commons, CC BY

Alexander Carter, University of Birmingham

In the 1980s, Britain’s far right was on the rise. Fascist parties fielded over 100 candidates in the 1983 general election. And culturally, the far right was also making ground.

“White power” bands like Skrewdriver and Peter and the Wolf began drawing sizeable crowds and selling thousands of records. In 1987, Skrewdriver’s frontman founded Blood & Honour, a music network that soon gained followers and branches throughout the US and Europe.

Blood & Honour’s emergence caused tremors among the UK antifascist movement. Anti-Fascist Action (AFA), the dominant antifascist group of the time, struck back with their own musical network: Cable Street Beat (CSB).

This is the story of how music became a battleground in the 1980s and 1990s, as antifascists fought fascism with guitars and microphones.

Cable Street Beat

Cable Street Beat was named after the antifascists’ celebrated victory over Oswald Mosley’s Blackshirts. Before the second world war, British MP Oswald Mosley had commanded a growing fascist movement that had been fiercely resisted by antifascists.

On October 4 1936, Mosley amassed his Blackshirts to march through the East End of London. However, around 100,000 militant antifascists gathered on Cable Street to oppose them, ultimately preventing the fascists’ march.

The first CSB gig was held on October 8 1988 at the Electric Ballroom in London. Newtown Neurotics, The Men They Couldn’t Hang and punk poet Attila the Stockbroker electrified a 1,000-strong crowd

Black and white photo of Oswald Mosley

British MP Oswald Mosley commanded a growing fascist movement. National Portrait Gallery

On October 4 1936, Mosley amassed his Blackshirts to march through the East End of London. However, around 100,000 militant antifascists gathered on Cable Street to oppose them, ultimately preventing the fascists’ march.

The first CSB gig was held on October 8 1988 at the Electric Ballroom in London. Newtown Neurotics, The Men They Couldn’t Hang and punk poet Attila the Stockbroker electrified a 1,000-strong crowd.

Crucially, the audience also heard a powerful speech from Solly Kaye, an antifascist veteran of the actual Battle of Cable Street five decades earlier. Kaye warned the assembled concertgoers that fascist “songs” were “poison put into the minds of young people”.

Brendan, an AFA and CSB organiser and horn player with antifascist punk band the Blaggers, described to me how CSB was needed: “Firstly as a way to draw people who might be attracted to the far right into a more progressive type of politics … Secondly it was needed to bring people together from different cultures. Thirdly, just to stick two fingers up to the far right.”

The power of punk

CSB drew energy from the UK’s frenetic punk scene. Bands such as the Angelic Upstarts, Snuff and Yr Anhrefn all enthusiastically took up CSB’s cause. They shared the stage with antifascist activists who gave rousing speeches.

Punk poet Attila holds a microphone in one hand and beer in the other.

Punk, and in particular the working-class focused, aggressive Oi! subgenre and related skinhead subculture, was an area that the far right had long tried to colonise.

Blood & Honour wanted to believe otherwise, but the skinhead movement (which originated in the 1960s) had roots in Jamaican culture and reggae. Indeed, few skinheads had any interest in white power.

Punk poet Attila the Stockbroker in 2018. Madchickenwoman/Wiki Commons, CC BY-SA

“If far-right politics helped inform the identity of some within the … skinhead subculture,” says historian Matthew Worley, “then the vast majority resisted and rejected the substance of the fascist message.”

CSB gained considerable ground in this battle. High-profile bands like The Specials and The Selecter played benefit gigs. Multiple other bands – including The Oppressed, Knucklehead and Spy Vs Spy – put out AFA fundraising CDs.

Thomas “Mensi” Mensforth, the charismatic lead singer of the Angelic Upstarts’ (who sadly passed away in 2021), even narrated an AFA documentary produced for the BBC in 1993.

Unity Carnivals

CSB’s most high-profile strategy was its Unity Carnivals. The first, held in Hackney Downs Park in 1991, attracted 10,000 attendees. This made it the biggest public antifascist event in a decade. Bands including Gary Clail’s On U Sound System, The 25th of May and The Blaggers kept the vast crowds dancing all day under the banner of antifascism.

But the partying was punctuated with serious political rhetoric. Throughout the day activists gave speeches and handed out flyers. Brendan was part of the team that organised the carnival.

“It’s a cliché,” he told me, “but that carnival really did unite people. It brought a really diverse crowd together in Hackney and really got the political messages across.”

Two more carnivals followed: another in Hackney in 1992 and one in Newcastle in 1993, where The Shamen headlined with their chart-topping song Ebeneezer Goode.

Freedom of movement

CSB was wound down in the early 1990s. Nevertheless, music remained a central element of AFA’s activism.

By the early 1990s, electronic dance music had taken off in the UK. Antifascists immediately saw the potential and in Manchester local DJs and AFA set up the Freedom of Movement campaign in 1993 to mobilise these ravers. AFA’s magazine, Fighting Talk, declared Freedom of Movement’s aim was to “politicise the previously apathetic dance club scene, raising issues of racism and fascism”.

From 1993 to 1996, AFA put on a series of antifascist club nights in cities from Edinburgh to London. They also released an AFA benefit album, This is Fascism, featuring prominent DJs and producers including Carl Cox, Drum Club and Fun-Da-Mental. The Blaggers had close links to AFA, playing multiple benefit gigs.

Fascism is on the march again. The far right in Italy, Argentina and the Netherlands have all recently experienced electoral victories. Many other countries – such as the US, Brazil and India – have experienced explosions in far-right activity.

Findings from my own research and others’ demonstrate that fascists are adept at using culture to achieve their goals. It enables them to transmit their hateful ideology, generate money and forge networks across countries.

But the successes of CSB and AFA provide us with valuable lessons. Music can send a powerful message and mobilise hundreds of thousands to resist racism. Its emotive nature can change listeners’ worldviews, and help create a shared culture that is antithetical to the far right’s divisive goals.

This is an area where antifascists can make real gains against their foes: uniting antifascism and music is a tried-and-tested method for winning over the hearts and minds of people against hatred.


Alexander Carter, Research Fellow, University of Birmingham

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.