Girls Rock Camp Atlanta and the Importance of Musical Empowerment
I remember my first gig like it was yesterday.
It was 6 a.m. in the sharp cold of October. I was 12 years old, wearing my favorite leather jacket and an infinity scarf that matched my cream sweater and bootcut jeans from dELIA*s. Waiting for Joe, my first band with a name derived from my celebrity husband Joe Jonas, was set to play a road race. We placed our instruments and amplifiers near a folding table covered with white cups and Powerade, playing our 30-minute set to a sea of runners who threw their cups aimlessly against the pavement. I was never able to wipe the red Powerade stains off of my Fender.
This first performance, while clumsy and cold, made me feel like the biggest rockstar. I went from watching videos of Taylor Swift and Paramore on my iPod Touch to playing guitar and singing covers of their songs with a band of new friends behind me. This moment of music and camaraderie (mixed with adrenaline and some hot chocolate) sparked a dream in me that has only grown larger these last nine years. I haven’t stopped performing since.
I may be a little biased, but girls in bands rock. There is something to be said for women who have the courage to run onstage, grab a microphone, and spill their guts out to strangers. I am my most confident self when I’m performing: I’d rather tell a crowd of 1,000 people a secret than tell it to one person. Music empowers me to say everything I need to say.
Girls Rock Camp Atlanta (GRCATL) empowers women of all ages to express themselves positively through music. Stacey Singer founded the camp in 2008 and modeled it after the original organization located in Portland, Oregon. It is just one faction of the Girls Rock Camp Alliance, which describes itself as “an international membership network of youth-centered arts and social justice organizations.” Today, they are known as one of the largest band camps in the United States, among better-known music programs such as School of Rock and Camp Jam.
What sets GRCA apart from these programs is the dedication to amplify the voices of marginalized communities through the power of music. Art and politics go hand in hand.
“We create a safe space for people to be their authentic selves without fear of judgment,” Emily Backus, co-chair of GRCATL’s board of directors said. “This is more valuable than any musical byproduct, but the music rocks too.”
Because GRCATL is a non-profit organization, the board of directors is comprised entirely of volunteers dedicated to encouraging this total freedom of expression. Their work in the music industry outside of GRCATL leaves campers feeling inspired to continue learning and performing. Board member Elena de Soto, is the head talent-buyer at The Masquerade, as well as the co-founder of Deep Rest Records, a small indie label. Ree de la Vega, another board member, is one of Atlanta’s most sought-after DJs, performing residencies at W Hotels and STK. These women take time out of their busy schedules to give back to those who aspire to lead such music-centric lives.
“The rewards are too many to list,” volunteer Kimberly Grattan said. “They include making new awesome friends, watching the campers befriend each other across social, class, and racial lines, crying while the campers perform the songs they write together, paying forward the support I got as a young musician, tons of acceptance, and tons of love!”
Grattan’s words remind me that music has always been the way I’ve expressed my innermost thoughts, feelings, and fears. My elementary years were full of bullying and health problems that loomed like rain clouds. I shook off my bad days at school by sitting at my keyboard and playing Jonas Brothers songs in the corner of our kitchen. I later begged my parents for guitar lessons and felt a strange sense of pride as the first calluses formed on my fingers. My mom encouraged me to sign-up for an extracurricular musical theatre camp, where I grew as a singer and actress. I found happiness and comfort on this stage, playing roles such as Wendy Darling in Peter Pan and the Baker’s Wife in Into the Woods.
As I grew up, however, the part I desired to play most was myself. This is when I started writing my own songs and performing them at coffeeshops and local music venues. Singing my own words (even the cringeworthy lyrics I wrote at 13) made me feel more alive than any musical theatre role did. It also became my outlet for expressing anger, heartbreak, love, and resilience. Writing songs has become my therapy, and GRCATL encourages their campers to continue songwriting for this reason.
“Every year I am blown away by the songs out campers write,” Backus said. “I am inspired by their ability to lift each other up.”
The story I am trying to tell is much larger than Girls Rock Camp Atlanta and myself: it is the idea that musical empowerment changes lives. Women and non-binary individuals should be encouraged to make music and combat the gender stereotypes of the rock music scene.
The Annenberg Inclusion Initiative of 2017 reported that only 16.8% of popular music artists were women that year. The report also found that between 2013 and 2018, only 9.3% of the 899 Grammy nominees were female.
“In the grand scheme of things, female rock musicians on any sort of wider scale is a very new thing,” Hayley Williams said in an interview with Rock Sound Magazine. “It’s only in the last few years that people have stopped viewing the notion of a female onstage in a rock band as some sort of novelty.”
Girls Rock Camp Atlanta is dedicated to encouraging students to find their voices.
“I’m hopeful that the worldwide movement of Girls Rock Camps will encourage us all to hire women and gender-expansive folks for our bands whenever possible,” Backus said.
“I expect it to continue to be a hard battle for credit, acceptance, and fair pay in an industry that is still dominated by patriarchal norms,” Grattan added. “But, I’m so encouraged by the support I see women and allies giving each other.”
It has been nine years since my first performance and that infamous red Powerade spill. The tiny red splotches on my Fender’s white pickguard make me smile. They remind me of the day I found my voice.
