MUSICIANS
MELISSA
FERRICK,
Amy
Ray
and
Doria
Roberts
have
more
than
a
few
things
in
common.
They’re
lesbians.
They
write
their
own
music.
And
their
talent
and
unwillingness
to
compromise
their
artistic
integrity
guarantees
they’ll
be
around
longer
than
the
average
pop
star.
“These
are
people
working
really
hard
and
living
their
dream,”
says
Lynda
Allen,
a
D.C.
filmmaker.
“They
won’t
give
up
just
because
it
gets
difficult.”
Ferrick,
Ray
and
Roberts
are
among
seven
female
musicians
Allen
and
Wendy
Tumminello
talk
with
in
“Hitting
the
Right
Chord,”
a
documentary
to
be
screened
at
8
p.m.
at
the
Rosslyn
Spectrum
Theatre
in
Virginia
on
Tuesday,
Nov.
18.
A
live
performance
by
Roberts
follows
at
9
p.m.
Their
struggle
to
make
the
types
of
music
that
they
enjoy
and
their
rejection
of
commercialization
is
a
major
focus
of
the
film.
“Hitting
the
Right
Chord”
features
interviews
and
performances
by
seven
female
musicians.
In
addition
to
Ferrick,
Ray
and
Roberts,
the
other
artists
are:
Jane
Siberry,
a
Canadian
singer/songwriter;
Michelle
Lewis,
a
songwriter
who
won
a
Canadian
music
award;
Toni
Blackman,
a
D.C.-based
musician
recognized
in
recent
years
for
hip-hop
workshops
she
created
for
young
boys
in
Arlington,
Va.;
and
Kate
Schellenbach,
a
solo
performer
and
former
member
of
Luscious
Jackson,
a
now-defunct
alternative
band.
THE
TWO
FILMMAKERS
discovered
that
most
independent
female
musicians
are
connected
in
one
way
or
another.
After
five
years
of
shooting
footage,
however,
Allen
and
Tumminello
had
too
many
artists
to
include
in
the
one-hour
documentary.
So
they
narrowed
it
down
to
seven.
Besides
being
an
openly
gay
performer,
Ray,
who
comprises
one
half
of
the
Indigo
Girls,
has
never
been
one
to
compromise
her
beliefs.
She
started
the
independent
music
label
Daemon
Records
13
years
ago
to
support
and
encourage
independent
musicians.
In
2000,
Ray
embarked
on
a
solo
tour
and
recorded
“Stag,”
without
her
well-known
stage
partner,
Emily
Saliers.
The
Indigo
Girls
are
still
going
strong,
however,
and
continue
to
influence
and
inspire
musicians
such
as
Ferrick.
Ferrick
got
her
big
break
in
1991,
when
she
signed
with
Atlantic
Records.
After
two
album
releases
failed
to
bring
commercial
success,
she
was
once
again
on
her
own
—
and
happy
that
way.
“I
don’t
need
to
kiss
ass
on
an
indie
label,”
she
says
in
the
film.
“I
don’t
need
to
suffer
for
my
art
anymore.”
Tumminello
stumbled
on
Roberts
by
accident.
After
hearing
Roberts
introduce
herself
during
her
concert,
the
filmmaker
remembered
the
name
from
an
interview
she
had
done
with
Ferrick.
Roberts,
who
describes
herself
as
queer,
was
more
than
willing
to
take
part
in
the
film.
The
32-year-old
folk
singer
based
in
Atlanta
was
an
ideal
candidate:
She
is
gay,
biracial
and
an
independent
artist.
“[As
an
independent
artist]
nobody’s
telling
you
what
to
do
—
there
is
no
formula
to
follow,”
she
told
the
Blade.
“So
it
takes
a
tremendous
amount
of
focus.”
Roberts
added,
“I
try
not
to
look
at
what
we
do
as
a
phenomenon
because
when
you
present
yourself
as
an
exception,
you
can’t
inspire
people
to
do
the
same.”
Her
music
mixes
folk,
jazz
and
pop
with
lyrics
about
everyday
life.
“I
don’t
worry
about
writer’s
block,”
she
says,
“as
long
as
I
have
experiences
I’ll
have
enough
to
write
about.”
For
the
past
seven
years,
Roberts
has
been
the
executive
producer
of
Queerstock,
a
concert
showcasing
gay,
lesbian,
bisexual
and
transgendered
artists.
The
“Grassroots
Queers,”
an
activist
group,
created
Queerstock
in
Philadelphia
in
1995
and
invited
Roberts
to
perform
in
what
would
be
one
of
her
first
appearances
as
an
openly
gay
artist.
“It
had
a
huge
effect
on
me,”
she
says,
“and
as
a
Yankee
lesbian
of
color,
I
moved
to
the
South
and
tried
to
put
Queerstock
on
the
map.”
At
the
time,
it
was
difficult
for
Roberts
to
find
other
openly
gay
musicians
to
take
part
in
Queerstock.
“In
’96
we
didn’t
have
‘Queer
as
Folk’
or
‘Queer
Eye
[For
the
Straight
Guy],’
so
people
were
offended
by
that
word,”
she
says.
“And
you
had
to
be
out
to
play,
since
that
was
the
whole
point.”
Roberts
uses
Queerstock
to
raise
money
for
youth
advocacy
groups
around
the
country.
“I’m
not
raising
a
million
dollars,
but
it’s
‘poor
man’s
philanthropy,’”
she
says.
“Sometimes
people
walk
away
with
more
knowledge
than
they
had.
“I
have
a
very
diverse
fan
base,
so
if
I
can
get
a
70-year-old
straight
white
guy
to
donate
to
these
organizations,
it’s
great,”
she
says,
“because
awareness
is
just
as
important
as
money.”
