One signs up for a Facebook group about contemporary classical music, and as soon as you hit the request button, regret starts creeping in as you imagine convoluted discussions about Xenakis's theories or the poor unknown artist trying to share his work in hopes of boosting his 45 views on YouTube.
And indeed, this is how it goes for years, until a Japanese person, with nothing better to do, writes: "Which LGBTQ contemporary composers do you know?"
And behold, the stagnant page comes alive with a flame war that even a dark web of trapper dealers couldn't match as they bolster each other to shoot up.
The Japanese guy gets overwhelmed by the torrent of indignation, accused of wanting to create a blacklist, while the non-indignant are labeled as complacent homophobes; others throw in sarcastic comments asking for a list of hypocritical composers, and down we go again in indignation (I had replied with Steve Reich and Luigi Nono: for me, the trolling question had its own rationale). Many leave the page - not surprisingly - indignant. No word of the Japanese guy: I believe he must have resorted to the ancient practice of harakiri. He probably had to write a thesis, craft an essay, form an idea to demonstrate how many gay artists have left their mark on the history of music. No malice, no serial numbers to tattoo, but nothing. This is a false and disingenuous society that feels the need to protect itself this way, pointing fingers like a machine gun and putting a rainbow picture on their social profile during Pride. I know so many people with profile pictures saying "love who you want" who, sitting in a pub, have said about a guy passing by, "I think he's gay." Oh, how many I know. Should I trust them or feel embarrassed for not having participated in the collective outrage? What should I learn from these people who don't even know where empathy lives?
Henry Purcell - Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary - March