Philly’s Transcendent Choir welcomes trans, nonbinary, and gender-expansive singers

That was the sole gesture of conformity in this community choir for people who are trans, non-binary, or gender-expansive. And when the singers shed their cardigans after that opening number in an April concert at University Lutheran Church, it was clear that this was not a traditional choir, where sections typically cleave not just by vocal register but by gender.

In Transcendent, a long-haired singer in a dress might be carrying the bass line. Someone else may perform in beard and ball gown. And a 20-something who thought his singing days were over has found his place amidst the tenors.

The choir Philly needed

When artistic director Maya Kociba and executive director Celena Spain-Frank met at Dim Sum Garden in January 2024 to brainstorm their vision for a trans choir—Spain-Frank had posted a rant to that effect on Facebook and Kociba, a longtime music educator, had responded—they agreed that Philadelphia needed a singing group in which trans and gender-nonconforming people could be unapologetically themselves.

Existing choirs didn’t exclude trans and GNC folks, but “trans and gender-expansive (TGX) singers have this really inherent fear that their voices will out them, or that their voices will not mesh with the framework that already exists,” Kociba said. “The voice is probably one of the most precarious and fragile parts of any one person’s transition.” The two imagined a choir where “no matter what your voice sounds like, there’s a place for it.”

Musical role models

That was true for Jeremy Kaplan-Mayer, 20, who grew up singing alto in Pennsylvania Girlchoir, rehearsing every Monday and Saturday for four years, traveling to Colorado to perform. But then there was Covid, and his transition, and Kaplan-Mayer dropped out of the group.

Testosterone not only lowered his voice but rendered it, for a while, unpredictable. “My voice was cracking. I thought I’d never sing [publicly] again. I sang to myself, and if I had a friend over, maybe we would sing together. But it wasn’t the same as being in an actual choir.”

When Kaplan-Mayer’s mom told him about Transcendent, he jumped at the chance to join—not only for the opportunity to sing with a group that would understand and accommodate his changing voice, but to find role models.

“I can connect to [other singers] on a more personal level. If I have questions—because some of them are older than me and have been trans for longer—I can go to them and they won’t be annoyed.”

Breaking the rules of classical performance

For Kociba, Transcendent is an opportunity—both for singers and for audience members—to push back on the “rules” of classical performance.

“We are not only challenging what is acceptable to sing, and how, but what is acceptable to wear, how it is acceptable to present ourselves. Our big secret is that these rules are all made up.”

Which means some singers wear masks because they are medically vulnerable; others may need to sit through part or all of a concert. The dress code—basic black, with bottoms that go at least ¾ of the way down the body and no spaghetti straps—can work for all.

“We have singers with tattoos, singers who dye their hair, a singer who shaved their whole head the night before a concert and had a whole bunch of glitter on their head,” Kociba said.

“I’ve come to terms with my voice”

Most important, there is an embrace of voices that are in transition, of people who are actively refashioning how they want to look, sound and exist in the world.

Spain-Frank, who is also the first African American trans person to be consecrated as a bishop in the Episcopal-Apostolic Church, knows that struggle first-hand. Growing up, she aspired to sound like Barry Manilow. “But part of my gender journey when I transitioned was that I thought I needed to sound a certain way to be accepted. I was intentionally causing vocal damage by trying to sing as a soprano.”

Thanks in part to Transcendent, Spain-Frank has found her vocal—and emotional—comfort zone. “I tried the higher voices, I tried tenor and now I am a bass. I’ve come to terms with my voice: it is beautiful; it is powerful; it is intentional.”

A growing profile

Transcendent’s 54 members rehearse once a week. They have a mascot, a stuffed turtle named Miss Teegan, who goes by all pronouns; members take turns bringing Miss T home between practices and sometimes showcasing her at their weddings or family reunions.

The choir’s profile is growing; in addition to fall and spring concerts, Transcendent performed June 6 in an ArtPhilly collaborative project called Sail Through This to That. Members will sing later this month in Long Live the Queen, a 90-minute fusion of cantata, opera, drag, cabaret and performance art created by composer Andrea Clearfield and drag queen Cookie Diorio (look out for the BSR review).

At a rehearsal a few days before the ArtPhilly event, Kociba led singers through warm-ups in a second-story room at a West Philadelphia church. Then singer Mae Milano handed out sheet music, and the choir, at slow tempo, sight-read their way through the song made famous by Lady Gaga:

“I’m beautiful in my way ‘cause God makes no mistakes.
I’m on the right track, baby, I was born this way.”

Milano, 36, majored in music composition as an undergrad and sang in semi-professional choirs; now she’s a Princeton professor working in the juncture of music and computer science.

She points out that vocal register, resonance, and technique are not a given for any particular singer. “I was a bass growing up. Singing alto was a hard choice. Think about relearning to walk after a major accident; at first, all these habits don’t work, but eventually, you’re doing fine.”

Like Kaplan-Mayer, she values both the choral experience—“in a choir, your voice is reacting contrapuntally with everyone’s voice around you”—and the relationships she’s built in a space where she doesn’t have to explain herself. “It’s a lot easier to feel connection when one of the biggest things that could come up is already out in the open by default.”

A neighbor just like you

At that April concert, it took me a minute, but I got the cardigans. I got the bittersweet impact of Transcendent singing “I’ve always wanted to have a neighbor just like you” at a time when violence and hatred toward trans people and immigrants is on the rise.

But I didn’t fully understand, until I’d talked with Milano and Kaplan-Mayer, until I’d heard the music and come to a rehearsal, that voices—like other aspects of self-presentation—are a cocktail of genetics, hormones, socialization, and choice. Transcendent’s singers are choosing to bring their complicated, messy, evolving selves to the music. Their voices, in turn, have the power to change us.

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