Commencement: Well, that's one solution

It would appear that the days of School of Music Commencement on School of Music stage are over. I didn't see that one coming, but it does pose a few solutions, however draconian, to my aches and pains in this series of posts.

Since 1990, my school of music had held its own Commencement ceremonies in its own auditorium, with the organ serving as the processional vessel of choice, played by yours truly. No canned Pomp & Circumstance. No assembling an overworked brass quintet or full band or orchestra. Just me. All other units across the campus held their exercises in larger venues. Then the huge arena was built several years later, and those units moved in there, but we got to stay in our own house. That was always cozy and meaningful, especially for our own graduates.

Covid knocked out ALL Commencement exercises for a time. Then as things came back, the School of Music was moved "temporarily" into the arena, coupled with another similarly-small-sized unit, to allow for proper social distancing. Now, such appears to have become a "tradition." So there we are, relocated, and no one I know of has raised a fuss about it. Neither will I.

As I've described in the other posts under this tag, our Commencement exercises have always had their problems. But the meaning of being on one's own stage for one's own Commencement is now lost on a class of students who never knew the difference. So they are none the wiser, and I myself will not complain about not having to "work" the event (after all, there's no organ to play in the big arena). It all gives me an extra week or so of summer vacation. No one is going to miss me at the cattle call in the arena, and I'll not apologize for deliberately missing a ceremony, away from which the current administration continues to chip the finery.

Any of you liturgical church types see a similarity between this and your own situation at church? My condolences -- your situation is worse than mine.

One more on Commencement, and I’ll be done, I think

I thought I was finished grousing about Commencement, but there’s more.

I do love Commencement, honestly. I love the ceremony. I love the intimacy of the School of Music holding its own ceremony on its own stage, using its own organ and organist. But I have blogged in this little set of posts about some elements of it that gnaw at my patience. When the very nature of ceremony begins to be threatened, I begin to pace like a caged tiger. My displeasure at all that is identical to my displeasure with the ongoing bastardization of liturgy at every turn in every denomination for the past few decades. Hey, it's my job; it's what I do. So here's one more component of our Commencement exercises that has begun to drive me crazy:

This University holds seven separate Commencements, divided by college unit. About four years ago, upper Administration decided that Commencement proper should begin at the advertised hour and that, therefore, the procession should commence at fifteen minutes before the hour. This has necessitated wordier advertisements of procedure and start times, and it has wrought a bit of havoc with the ceremony for the smaller processions that don’t take fifteen minutes (such as the School of Music and some other smaller units – ours takes about 7).

Perhaps the more liturgically-minded reader can appreciate the liturgical incorrectness of this decision. To advertise a ‘service’ for a certain hour but then to say that there will be fifteen minutes of ‘pre-game’ attractions sends the clearest message that those fifteen minutes are not part of the service. But would my Episcopal and Lutheran friends want to concede that the opening voluntary and opening processional hymn are not part of the ceremony? Would anyone want to concede that if the procession is not part of the ceremony, then the network cameras don’t need to be turned on until the princess bride has arrived at the altar? Heavens, no, folks. The procession is half the show. It’s the pretty part. All those pretty colors processing into place. It IS the show, and the rest of the ceremony feeds out of that pageantry. Well, that’s all I have to say about that.

The truth is that none of this will change, I'm sure. I'm howling at the wind to think that Administration will listen to a lowly music professor. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be nice if a music professor were listened to on musical matters, especially if the present matter is also of a [secular] liturgical nature, one of this professor’s specialties. Well, this is why it’s all being blogged about here, rather than being sent to Administration in a memo.

Commencement: stirring, not Shakered, please

I deeply regret what COVID has done to our public gatherings, and I sympathize with those students who didn't get to 'walk' during Commencement ceremonies last May and likely won't this coming May. Our Commencement exercises for the Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State are intimate and enjoyable. I always enjoy being part of a smaller exercise than with the cattle call for the other units across campus.

Every large college unit at this university holds its own Commencement ceremonies in the large multi-purpose arena across campus. There are therefore seven separate ceremonies across three days each spring. However, the School of Music holds our ceremonies on our own stage, in our own building, with yours truly providing prelude and processional music on the mighty Casavant. On the surface, I love it; I love the intimacy; I love being in our own house, seeing our own graduates walk by on the stage where they performed, being able to hear each one’s name, and watching them shake paws with our administration as we send them forth.

But of course, for some musicians like me, there are flaws, and I was glad, frankly, not to have to deal with them last year. See here for additional posts. And now see below:

At each ceremony across the entire campus, the crowds stand and sing “Simple Gifts.” What in the world for? Why does “’Tis the gift to be simple…” need to be sung in such a setting?

Answer: it doesn’t.

The text is problematic. "'Tis the gift to be simple...come down where we ought to be...when true simplicity is gained...turning, turning, we come 'round right..." Most of that is archaic, and it refers to imagery and concepts that no longer apply in our particular society. And life is not simple if you’re a college student, and we should stop saying it is or that it should be. I always cringe and fold into myself while accompanying that tune each year, always asking myself, “What does this MEAN? Aren’t there other, more suitable, affirming tunes and texts we could be singing en masse each year? Why am I seated at the world's most complex musical instrument, playing a song about simplicity, with a gathered group who find simplicity too sensational to pursue at face value?”

The local love affair with the Shaker tune apparently comes from the tune's appearance in Aaron Copland's ballet Appalachian Spring. But that is problematic. In 1944, Copland had the entire score written and orchestrated, but he still had no title. Choreographer Martha Graham suggested a title. I can picture it now: “Aaaaaron, behbeh, why dontcha cawl it aaaapp-uh-LAYTCH-un spring?” [Complete with mispronunciation of ‘Appalachian,’ I'd bet. If you're puzzled by that, see here.] And Copland bought it. And the name stuck. And someone at what was then called Appalachian State Teachers College must have thought what a nice idea it would be to sing that tune for our purposes here. Just from self-associating with one word in Copland’s completely after-thought and externally-suggested title? Sorry, but Copland didn't write Appalachian Spring for us here.

The tune is problematic. Each year, I send in my titles for processionals, and each year, the program proof comes back reading “Simple Gifts, trad., arr. Harbinson.” Long-time faculty member and former dean Bill Harbinson arranged an accompaniment for the brass quintet to play in the arena for the other units’ Commencements. But for our ceremonies here with organ alone, I don't play that version. Each year, I have to remind my Associate Dean that “No, the version I play is not 'arr. Harbinson.' It’s more accurately 'trad., harmony improvised by Bell, melody adapt. Copland, melody further trainwrecked by audience.'” The audience tends to sing the rather altered hymnal version of the tune ("I danced in the morning"), while I play the original. And so this melodic train wreck perpetuates year after year. It’s a classic case of what happens when you don’t provide the notes to go along with the lyrics (hint, hint, screen-dependent churches).

I accept a lot of annoying realities, but this one refuses to get out from under my skin. This ‘tradition’ borne from ignorance makes us look like idiots to those who know. And now that you know, please don't think we're idiots. I'm working on it.

Wearing the cloak of respectability lightly

Ah, Commencement. A time to celebrate. A time to enjoy the upcoming freedom of summer. A time to enjoy the quietness of the town before summer school starts and the seasonal residents arrive in droves. Also a time to observe how society has changed since last year’s Commencement. Although my heart is usually broken by my observations, the ceremony is still good each year. I have to say that this year, our crowd was very well behaved. But this is a blog, and so we’re going to pick it apart, anyway:

There was the usual hooting and hollering for this or that graduate (is that related to the sophomoric hooting and hollering for a groom who finally ties the knot?). There were those graduates who wore shorts and flip-flops under their gowns (one of the oldest and lamest tricks in the book). There were the usual graduate(s) who painted messages on their mortarboard (again, lame).

I’m a fun loving guy, but I get serious when it’s time. I may sit backstage and crack jokes about these organ shoes making my butt look big, but when it’s time to walk out and play, I leave the Bozo nose out of it. I’ll play a great recital, and then I’m ready to go eat Mexican food and tell adult jokes. My dear friend John Yarrington still tells the story of me playing a recital one day and on the next holding up one end of the sofa he bought while walking behind the truck. Well, I’m me. I’m “good help” and a lot of fun, but I have worked hard enough for long enough to know that I play pretty darn well, and I don’t apologize for being respectable on the stage.

I believe it’s that word “apologize” that derails us most often. Passive apology, such as painting words on your mortarboard. Or the clergyperson who doesn’t want to be perceived by his youthful charges as stuffy, and so he wears Birkenstocks under his vestments and approaches the liturgy with a casual air of “y’all come.” Or the clergyperson who begins the liturgy not with “Blessed be God…” but rather with “Good MOOORNing! and WELLLcome to HOLy EUCHarist, RITE ONE!” as if we were at the world premiere of a long-lost Bernstein musical. Or the student who doesn’t want to be seen as responsible among his peers because it’s not cool. Or the brightest minds capable of great things but can’t keep up with their daily schedule. Come on, folks. It’s okay to get it right and be proud of it.

This past “May the fourth” fell on a Sunday. Someone was agonizing on Facebook over how to work Star Wars themes into the liturgy for that day. I told him, “It’s church, not a frat party. Leave Hollywood out of it.” (On the other hand, I myself did put South Park tunes into all services one Sunday. But they deserved it. Read about it here.) One Sunday many years ago, the Warden of the Vestry got up during the announcements and sang a song about the Rector “turning 50 in the morning,” sung to the tune of “Get me to the church on time.” I have seen moving liturgy brought to a mushroom cloud at the Peace by a troupe doing a frivolous skit about the upcoming country day fair. You’ve got to be kidding me.

But I know what it's like to be a prophet in his own land. I have been accused of being “so far above us now” when I played a fine recital on the home turf. But you know what? Screw ’em! It’s who I am now, and I will encourage anyone struggling with it themselves to wear the cloak of respectability lightly, except when it needs to be buttoned alllllll the way up.

Prophet in his own land

It finally happened. On the home turf.

Each academic college at my university conducts its own Commencement ceremonies. There are seven of them, spread across three days. All of them are held in the multi-purpose arena, except for the School of Music, which is held on its own stage in the music building. Our Commencement is intimate (though full), and it is a special event for our graduates to walk across their own stage to receive their diplomas. I play the organ for the processions, and we hear several student performances during the ceremony, as well. It is a wonderful time for us, and our musically-inclined [now former] Chancellor enjoys coming over for it. Back in 1990, I played for the very first commencement exercises held in the music building. It was my own graduation, and I have savored that memory all these years.

So yesterday, a mere twelve seconds into the prelude, an admin-type comes out on stage, tells me to play on but to bring it down, so that he can instruct the gathering audience to pretend this is church by moving into the center, fill in empty chairs, stop saving seats, and clear the aisles for the procession to come. When he passed back by me, I said, "Yes, that's just like church."

And I wasn't referring to moving into empty seats.

I was referring to the fact that those in charge always seem to find it appropriate to make announcements while live, professionally-prepared and performed music is being played. It happens in church all the time, but when it happens at the hand of a school-of-music admin at a well-respected and accredited school of music, it is a sad day, indeed.

I resumed and finished. Then I started the processional.

At which time all the above happened again.

Yes, a second time. Same person, new announcement of overflow in the Recital Hall next door.

I have no publicly-consumable language left to continue telling this story here. I will simply finish by saying that I was vindicated by a text I retrieved after Commencement from one of my sharper sacred music students: "How rude of Dr. X!"