“Kiss My Brass”: Reclaiming Space in Classical Music’s Most Male-Dominated Section

How bold brass players are challenging the norms and reshaping the sound of inclusion in orchestras.

For decades, brass sections in orchestras have echoed with a sound that was often loud, commanding—and largely male. Whether in school bands or symphony halls, tuba and trombone sections remained a bastion of masculine presence, their thunderous resonance seemingly reserved for boys and men. But today, musicians across Australia and beyond are challenging that status quo, reshaping what it means to hold the bell of a trumpet or French horn. At the center of this cultural crescendo is a movement—and a message—called Kiss My Brass.

Why the Brass Section Stayed Mostly Male

The imbalance isn’t just a coincidence. For years, musical instrument selection in schools and youth programs leaned on outdated assumptions. Teachers, consciously or not, often nudged girls toward flute, clarinet, or violin, while encouraging boys to try percussion or brass. These choices, influenced by social conditioning, reinforced the idea that brass was “too aggressive,” “too loud,” or simply “not feminine.”

This stereotype persisted well into professional spaces. Even as orchestras diversified in woodwind and string sections, brass lines lagged behind. The result? Generations of potential talent turned away before they had a chance to try.

In “The Quiet Power of Representation in the Arts”, Vocal explores how visibility influences opportunity. In the context of brass music, visibility has long been limited. Few role models, limited pathways, and a lack of targeted support have kept many women and non-binary musicians from ever picking up a trombone in the first place.

Personal Accounts That Echo Across the Stage

Musicians who did step into brass territory often found themselves the lone woman or non-binary person in an ensemble. Some share stories of teachers who questioned their “fit” in the section. Others recount being talked over, tuned out, or subtly discouraged in conservatory settings.

These aren’t isolated experiences—they represent a wider issue in music culture. The psychological toll of being constantly scrutinized, tokenised, or underestimated has pushed many out. But for others, it sparked something louder than a trumpet call: defiance.

A Community That Blows the Doors Wide Open

In the face of all this, new initiatives have emerged to foster community, challenge convention, and provide support. Leading the charge is Kiss My Brass, a platform dedicated to uplifting women and non-binary brass musicians. With a name that’s both cheeky and empowering, Kiss My Brass stands for more than just clever wordplay—it’s a rejection of the gatekeeping that has plagued the genre.

This movement offers mentorship, educational content, performance promotion, and a sense of belonging to players who may have once felt isolated. It doesn’t just challenge the culture of orchestral music—it provides alternatives, redefines norms, and gives young musicians the confidence to embrace their instruments unapologetically.

By creating space for shared stories and amplifying diverse voices, Kiss My Brass is rewriting the script for what brass performance looks—and sounds—like.

Sounding the Call for Representation

It’s no surprise that musicians are also finding power in collective storytelling and digital advocacy. In “Sounding Off: When Music Becomes a Means of Protest”, the role of music in cultural change is clear. And in the world of brass, simply being visible and unapologetically present becomes an act of resistance.

When a young student sees a woman soloing on trombone or a non-binary performer confidently owning the lead trumpet part, it sparks something bigger than inspiration—it plants a possibility. It says: “You belong here too.”

Brass musicians have long faced a culture of competition, hierarchy, and tradition. While excellence matters, access must come first. Kiss My Brass recognises that before we can hear new sounds, we need new players—and to get them, we need new support systems.

Where Change Is Happening

Thankfully, change is in motion. Music festivals are broadening their selection criteria, conservatories are revisiting audition processes, and social media has given rise to new-age brass icons who defy the mould. Young brass players now share their rehearsal sessions, educational tips, and performance clips on TikTok and Instagram, making the craft more accessible than ever.

These shifts matter. They show that the system—once a rigid structure built around exclusion—can become fluid, loud, and inclusive. And as more musicians proudly wear the badge of Kiss My Brass, the message grows louder.

Building a More Harmonious Future

This movement isn’t about silencing anyone—it’s about turning up the volume for those who’ve been quieted for too long. It’s about acknowledging the harm of musical gender stereotyping and doing something meaningful to dismantle it.

Reclaiming the brass section is not just a metaphor—it’s a tangible act of resistance. And it’s happening every time someone says, “Yes, I play tuba,” or, “This trumpet is mine,” in a room where they were once told they didn’t belong.

Kiss My Brass is more than a name. It’s a rallying cry. One that’s being echoed in rehearsal rooms, on concert stages, and across the digital soundscape.

The next time you hear a horn section swell to fill the hall, listen closely. It might sound a little different than before—and that’s a good thing.