As an autistic person, music is hugely important to me. A lot of my special interests over the years have been bands; Muse remains about the only thing I have in common with my 14-year-old self, Bastille soundtracked the highs and lows of my adult life, and when things took a turn for the worse a few years ago, Royal Blood’s third album proved to be an unlikely but powerful turning point. For me, live music is both the peak of sensory euphoria and the motivation to push through anxiety.
So when I was asked to join a discussion panel back in July for the launch of LiveND, a research collaboration between Brunel University London and Royal Albert Hall exploring live music accessibility and inclusion for neurodivergent people, I said yes very quickly!
For the panel session I was joined by researchers Dr Hayleigh Bosher and Dr Keren MacLennan, event manager and campaigner Esta Rae, and the Royal Albert Hall’s Flo Schroeder. The discussion was book-ended by performances from The Anchoress and J2Oh, who were both brilliant.
One major theme of the discussion was providing information in advance – as covered in further detail in Autistica’s Inclusive Spaces Plan. The ability of the Royal Albert Hall team to change the physical environment is often severely restricted by the historic building’s listed status. Yet being open about the environment they have and the adjustments that are available, along with images and video walkthroughs of the Hall’s spaces, can go a long way to help people to prepare.
Uncertainty itself is difficult for many autistic people, so simply knowing what to expect can minimise anxiety. Case in point: As we were heading in, I overheard that our event space was air-conditioned, and it lifted a weight I hadn’t realised was there.
As the conversation continued, I heard a different perspective: neurodivergent people have such diverse sensory needs that it would be impossible for any venue’s advance information to preempt them all. This means that ultimately, there’s also some responsibility on us to ask for the information we need. Personally, I am very bad at this. It isn’t easy – most neurodivergent people will have countless experiences of being told their needs are too silly or too demanding, and the urge to fit in is strong.
Another key theme, also borne out by Autistica’s wider work, is that attitudes are often half the battle. Panellists and research participants described frequent disbelief around their needs, which can fluctuate across different contexts. This was true even when people are actively in distress, as this is not always expressed in the way neurotypical people would expect.
I can see why it might be counter-intuitive that I can be melting down in my bedroom one day and in the thick of a 70,000-strong rock crowd the next. What people don’t always see is the preparation and the anxiety beforehand, or the recovery afterwards.
Worst of all is the assumption that people who experience sensory sensitivities don’t want to be at live music events anyway, so there’s no point in trying to be inclusive. I get these kinds of questions a lot, and I can see why it might be counter-intuitive that I can be melting down in my bedroom one day and in the thick of a 70,000-strong rock crowd the next. What people don’t always see is the preparation and the anxiety beforehand, or the recovery afterwards. The sensory experience is the whole point – and unlike other contexts, I don’t have to hold a conversation, complete a task or keep up a socially acceptable mask at the same time. As another panelist put it, stimming at concerts is socially sanctioned because everyone else is doing it!
I’m not alone – live music was hugely important to the panel and the room, most of whom were neurodivergent. In fact, it became clear from the discussion that neurodivergent people are likely to be over-represented in some sectors of the music industry. But despite this, stigma remains. Whether it’s being forced to endure inaccessible networking events to progress in your career, or high rates of abuse and traumatic experiences that are then looked down on creatively, we’re expected to put up and shut up. But the more honest we all are, the easier it’s going to be for those who come after us.
Which brings me back to my homework. I left LiveND vowing to start practicing “So, what’s the temperature situation?” until it no longer made me want the ground to swallow me up. Inevitably, I haven’t managed to put that into practice yet, but the event gave me a new insight into just how many neurodivergent people are a part of this community, and the challenges we’re facing together.
My key takeaways were that venues, music or otherwise, need to get used to providing the sensory, communication and other information neurodivergent people may need to attend with confidence. Event organisers should provide a clear point of contact and welcome queries, as the Live ND team did, but they may not know what you need unless you tell them. Most venues want to be accommodating, but don’t know how. And it’s actively helpful for them if I take the initiative to ask.
Image description: Georgia Harper, right, at LiveND. Photo credit: Josie Tang @presentedbyjo.