Mantawoman: The Versatility of the Yangqin

Mantawoman, the alter ego of yangqin extraordinaire Reylon Yount, opens up about the instrument’s position on the musical outskirts, and the role it has played in her personal transformation.

Back in 2002, seven-year-old me walked into my school hall to find a group of five musicians, each sat by a Chinese instrument. The yangqin was in the centre. It was a trapezoidal soundbox sitting on an ornate stand, covered in steel strings. The player wielded two bamboo mallets like magic wands. As the ensemble started to play, I became enchanted by the yangqin’s shimmering sound.

The yangqin has always been a bit of an outsider, so its name seems quite apt (its original name meant ‘foreign instrument’). It is a descendant of the Persian santur and one of the less commonly played Chinese instruments. Occupying the space it does on the musical outskirts, it is, for me, a perfect vehicle for exploring new musical realms. I’ve spent my career zig-zagging through musical genres. I had incredibly supportive teachers in San Francisco, where I grew up, who tailored music classes so that I could be included. These gestures gave me the gift of developing freely alongside my peers who played guitar or piano.

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The yangqin is versatile. With over 60 chromatic pitches and a wide range of playing techniques, the yangqin has the ability to fit seamlessly into many styles of music, ranging from Baroque to Venezuelan folk to alternative pop. This chameleonic quality enabled my genre-fluid career across different sectors of the music industry, from a formative stint recording and touring with Yo-Yo Ma and the Silkroad Ensemble to a series of contemporary adventures with our transnational collective Tangram, to a pop gig with Caroline Polachek.

When I came to London in 2017 to pursue graduate studies in music at SOAS and Goldsmiths, I had a chance to centre my roaming practice and listen more closely to my own relationship with the instrument. I knew how to fit myself into other sound worlds, but what was my sound? What was I trying to say as an artist?

Lockdown catalysed this process of creative transformation. There was a quieting of freneticism, which caused me to listen more deeply within myself and come to terms with parts of myself I was keeping silent. It was in this environment that I came out as genderfluid, and the themes of shapeshifting and fluidity I had been exploring suddenly took on a new significance. This reflection, and the process of writing songs, led me to birth a new performance persona: Mantawoman.

Inspired by the ocean, Daoist philosophy, and my journey coming out as genderfluid, Mantawoman embodies fluidity as a healing response to fragmentation. She is a sacred siren tempting voyagers (audiences) towards change and self-transcendence.

Like a drag persona, this avatar allows me to perform and create from a bolder, more authentic place. Leaning into my authenticity has not only helped me hone in on a unique sound but also expanded my community and enriched my relationship with fellow queer artists and artists of colour, which has been an incredibly meaningful experience.

I’m thrilled to be bringing all of this — these creative insights and synergies — to fruition in our show YANG QUEEN at LSO St Luke’s on 31 August and 1 September. Presented by Tangram and directed by my collaborator Emma Johnson, YANG QUEEN will be a celebration of change, a deep dive into the fluid nature of being human, and an invitation to unmask. Indeed, I hope the show can serve as a breath of fresh air for anyone who feels boxed in.