A Personal Reflection on Accessibility and Exclusion in the Music Scene
Less independence, less opportunities
As disabilities become more present in people’s lives and independence decreases, it becomes increasingly difficult to go out dancing, socialising or to concerts. For many disabled people, including myself, professional opportunities are close to zero, no matter how much effort is invested. This is why the idea of creating our own inclusive events becomes essential: if we do not do it ourselves, professional life in music can simply disappear.
The first obstacle, however, is financial: hiring a venue can cost around £500, not to mention paying staff for tickets and other expenses.
Access or no access
Access or no access: that is the difference between being part of cultural life and being excluded from it. This is clearly shown in the Euan’s Guide Access Survey 2024 (link here), which demonstrates how the lack of accessibility directly impacts the projects, dreams, and life trajectories of thousands of disabled people in the UK.
My own experience echoes this reality: inaccessibility —together with being a foreigner, a woman, and neurodivergent— does not take away “some opportunities.” It takes away all of them.
The barriers and the project
For the past year I have been presenting a music project based on flamenco fusion and Andalusian electronic music, including global and danceable electronic music. This repertoire not only offers a unique proposal but also resonates with the themes of many events organised in my surroundings. Yet, despite fitting perfectly with these artistic lines, my applications have not been successful. The reason is not lack of quality or relevance: it is the lack of accessibility.
Whenever disabled artists submit proposals, they often have to include lists of basic adjustments needed to perform under equal conditions. These are not luxuries, but fundamental requirements —in the same way that ramps or lifts are in other contexts.
Without these measures, it is impossible to perform. For instance, if DJ controllers are not allowed, disabled DJs like myself cannot participate. Many of us have worked with CDJs and vinyl, but vision loss or other access needs make this no longer viable. Adapting tools, investing in high-quality digital sound systems, or relying on assistants are ways of making performance possible. But if assistants are not allowed in the booth, or if volume and lighting are unsuitable, then participation becomes impossible.
Passion for analogue, need for adaptation
Some events require analogue sound as a main rule. It is important to stress that many disabled DJs are also passionate about analogue sound. I personally have collections of hundreds of records, high-end mixers, nearfield monitors and Bose systems are part of my dedication. The shift from analogue to digital of high quality is not a lack of skill, but a necessary measure to continue working. Yet, the reaction often received is rejection —not of the music itself, but of the accessibility needs that come with it.
A clear example lies in the countless applications submitted to perform at festivals in Glasgow, Edinburgh and across the UK. These are events centred on musical fusion, roots, and diasporas: exactly the kind of spaces where flamenco fusion and hybrid music naturally belong. And yet, while colleagues are often invited, disabled DJs and artists, including myself, are systematically excluded.
The difference is not artistic fit. The problem lies in the access barriers that organisers refuse to address. That is the dividing line that decides which voices are heard and which are silenced. It is not the quality of the work that keeps people out, but the absence of accessibility.
Silence and defensiveness
For disabled people, the response to access requests is often silence. And when accessibility is pointed out, the reaction can be defensive —as if demanding equality were a personal attack. Dialogue stops, spaces are not adapted, and therefore those who most need access are left without any place at all.
This affects many vulnerable groups. And the impact is even greater when the person is also a woman, a lesbian, an immigrant, with an accent, and neurodivergent. Exclusion becomes not one barrier but a wall built of multiple layers of discrimination.
More than artistic merit
The most serious issue is that exclusion does not come from lack of artistic merit. Performances and genres such as flamenco fusion, rumba, and hybrid music align perfectly with the spirit of experimentation and diversity that festivals and events claim to celebrate. But simply asking for accessibility, combined with intersecting identities and disadvantages, often seals the outcome: it is easier than to make a space inclusive.
This is not a case of having “fewer opportunities.” It is about having none. Accessibility acts as a filter: if it is not guaranteed, disabled people are not invited. Even if the repertoire is ready, even if the proposal fits the event, even if there is a visible trajectory with projects and radio programmes —the opportunity vanishes before it is ever considered.
The data confirms it
The Euan’s Guide report confirms this reality with data:
- 70% of respondents say lack of accessibility has affected their goals, plans, or aspirations.
- 31% report a negative impact on employment and volunteering.
- 81% say inaccessibility affects their travel, which then limits access to culture, leisure, and work.
Disabled artists are a clear example of these figures. Careers are not just limited, but cancelled. And when barriers are pointed out, the response is often rejection or defensiveness. As if questioning inaccessibility were offensive. The result is double exclusion: being left out of events, and being labelled as “difficult,” which further erases participation.
Double punishment and cultural problem
This creates a double punishment: first, structural inaccessibility erases opportunities. Second, the cultural attitudes of organisers reinforce that erasure, turning the complaint itself into grounds for exclusion. Accessibility thus becomes not just an infrastructure issue, but a cultural one —an issue of attitudes, representation, and recognition.
The report also highlights this: 43% of respondents say negative attitudes towards disability make travel harder, and 57% believe disabled people are not fairly represented in the media. In the narrative of inclusion and diversity, disability is simply absent. Genres, communities, identities are celebrated —but accessibility is never on the programme. And when someone raises it, they risk being pushed aside as problematic.
The cumulative effect is devastating. For many disabled people in the music scene, employability is simply zero. Not due to lack of talent or proposals, but because spaces are not accessible, and communities refuse to assume the cost or effort of inclusion. Exclusion is not about lack of merit, but lack of collective will.
This testimony is not only a personal reflection, but confirmation of what the data in the report already show: accessibility remains the defining line between who participates and who is excluded.
Culture, which should be a space of encounter, creativity and community, too often becomes another territory where disabled people find closed doors. Accessibility cannot continue to be treated as a favour or an optional extra. It is a right. Denying it means denying disabled and vulnerable people the right to participate in cultural, professional, and community life. And the lived experience of disabled artists, myself included, is proof that this call cannot wait any longer.