A plea from a disabled musician: music venues, sort out your access

I’ve played in bands all my life, but it wasn’t until a spinal cord injury left me paralysed in 2007 that I began to wonder: where are all the disabled musicians?

I could think of disabled sportspeople, yes. But musicians? At the time, I could only name about five.

It couldn’t be the case that people with a disability just don’t “do” music, so why didn’t I see them anywhere?

When I got out of hospital, I quickly discovered why: access. The first problem I encountered was how to get into my old rehearsal room, quickly followed by the challenge of getting into venues. Almost all the places I used to play, from small rooms to 2,000-capacity clubs, had suddenly become an impossibility for a musician in a wheelchair. Even a small step could appear like a mountain. Yes, there are helpful roadies and stage crew who can carry you up stairs, but this is extremely risky at the best of times. One slip and it’s all over.

However, there were also some really positive experiences. In 2009 I was introduced to the charity Attitude Is Everything, which invited me to play at a stage it was running at Glastonbury festival that was showcasing disabled musicians. It was my first glimpse of how gigs can be run, and a chance to meet other musicians with disabilities. There was a full-sized ramp on to the stage, lots of duckboards to negotiate the mud, and accessible toilets and dressing rooms. We were provided with BSL interpreters to sign our lyrics to any hard-of-hearing members of our audience. It was a revelation.

After Glastonbury, it was back to the drudgery – of endless stairs, of travelling in bin lifts and discovering that accessible toilets frequently double as makeshift store rooms, stacked high with chairs and cleaning equipment. Even though things are improving, this still seems to be the norm.

I supported Graham Coxon a few years ago at a gig in Sheffield and the venue was great – all on the flat, accessible toilets, even a lowered section of the bar. All fantastic. Unless, that is, you were in the band. The only way to get onstage was a sharp ascent up some narrow stairs, and round a sharp corner that meant that I had to be lifted out of my chair and literally carried on to the stage. Apparently there was a very nice dressing room, but I had to get changed in the downstairs toilets, so I missed out on that. Sandwiches were brought down for me. Oh, the glamour of rock’n’roll.

But if physical access can be a big turnoff for disabled musicians, it’s by no means the only barrier. There are also the psychological aspects. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t feel a bit self-conscious of my physical disability, and this is hugely exaggerated when I’m on a stage in front of hundreds of people. Because there are so few high-profile disabled musicians, it can really feel as if you are some kind of novelty act.

Five years ago, I had the honour of playing in Trafalgar Square as part of Channel 4’s Paralympics coverage, and thanks to the 2012 Games there was a huge surge in positive public awareness of people with disabilities. The Paralympics inspired many young disabled people to get into sport. Anything equivalent has yet to be seen in the world of music. Maybe we need a ParaGlastonbury.

Until then, we’re stuck in a Catch-22. I remember seeing interviews with Ian Dury about his dislike of being treated differently and why he went on to write Spasticus Autisticus, with its lines such as, “So place your hard-earned peanuts in my tin/And thank the creator you’re not in the state I’m in”. I relate to Dury on many levels because, in my heart of hearts, I see myself as being a musician who happens to be disabled. But like it or not, as long as barriers exist, we need to keep highlighting them.

This is why change has to happen. Music helps define who we are as a nation, and among the estimated 11 million disabled people in the UK there has to be some amazing talent. Some small changes can help unlock that. And better support from the music industry could really open the floodgates.

• As one half of Revenge of Calculon, Rob Maddison performs at the In-Sight Weekend at the DIY Space for London, 31 March-1 April