I BRING MY OWN THREAD TO THE FOLK TAPESTRY

by Tara Beier

When I reflect on my place in the folk music world, I often feel like an anomaly.

Folk and Americana have long been white-dominated genres, especially in North America. As a biracial woman – half Filipino and half English-Scottish – raised in Vancouver, British Columbia, I rarely saw anyone who looked like me represented in this space. My presence in folk often feels like swimming against the current, but I’ve learned to turn that resistance into resilience.

My father, a Filipino immigrant, is at the heart of my connection to my Asian heritage. He came to Canada with nothing and built a successful business through sheer perseverance. He didn’t talk much about how being a man of color affected his opportunities – I’m not sure he even allowed himself to dwell on that. He simply kept pushing, working, and striving, regardless of the barriers. That quiet strength is something I carry with me. Early in my artistic career, someone told me, “You’ll have to work three times harder than other artists.” At the time, it didn’t fully register. But now, nearly a decade into my journey, I understand. I’ve had incredible recognition from fans, venues, and fellow musicians – people who listen without preconceptions. But the gatekeepers, the ones at the top – labels, press, major tastemakers – they haven’t always seen me. Despite releasing critically praised music, playing renowned venues, and receiving media coverage, the industry has often kept me at arm’s length.

Being a woman of Asian descent in folk means constantly being seen as “different.”

I’ve had moments where I felt like the odd one out – not just because of my features, but because my artistic expression didn’t conform to what people expected from someone who looks like me. When people see an Asian face, especially in North America, they often assume I must have grown up overseas or that I come from a different musical culture – R&B, K-pop, hip-hop. But I was born in Vancouver. I grew up on Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, and Neil Young. Folk music is part of my cultural fabric, even if my appearance tells a different story

I also grew up in a culture that, while polite on the surface, often felt quietly exclusionary. In Canada, there was a kind of unspoken resistance – a passive discomfort with difference. It felt like people didn’t quite know what to do with someone like me: a woman of color writing folk songs. Ironically, I found more space to breathe when I moved to the United States. While far from perfect, America felt more vocal, more willing to engage with identity. I became a U.S. citizen in 2024, and I carry that identity proudly – as a woman of color, a mother, and now, an immigrant who has made this country her home.

Motherhood has been another unexpected thread in my creative evolution. As the mother of twin boys, I’ve had to dismantle the idea that motherhood diminishes artistry. If anything, it has sharpened mine. The chaos, beauty, and intensity of raising children have deepened my creative voice, adding new textures to how I write, perform, and relate. These roles – artist and mother – don’t compete with each other. They collaborate.

The irony is that my outsider status is also what reaffirms my identity as an artist.

Artists are meant to be on the fringe – to challenge, to reimagine, to bring new perspectives. I’ve never been handed anything in this business. I’m not a “Nepo baby.” I didn’t marry into the industry. I didn’t have connections. I built everything from the ground up – often alone, often with very little. But I’ve always believed that kindness, perseverance, and authenticity will carry me through. And I’ve had to trust that the music will speak louder than my appearance.

Although I didn’t grow up steeped in Filipino traditions – my father was somewhat detached from that part of his identity – I was lucky to find community through friendships. In high school, I had a close-knit group of Filipino and Asian girlfriends who embraced me and helped me feel connected to that side of myself. They showed me warmth, humor, loyalty, and cultural pride – and I carry that sense of rootedness with me still.

At the end of the day, I don’t make music to represent anyone but my truest self. But if my presence in this genre can inspire other mixed-race kids, young Asian artists, or mothers who feel unseen – then I know I’m doing something that matters. Folk music is evolving. And we’re not just here to be included – we’re here to shape what comes next. – Tara Beier