The Perilous Fight: America’s National Anthem

Walking into the darkened space, it was clear we were going to see something special. Or incandescent. Or covered in light bugs. In any case, the protective lowered light appropriately fed into the experience of seeing our nation’s 250 year old flag on display at the Smithsonian’s American History Museum in Washington D.C. The flag itself is massive: 30’x42’. Holes and wear are easily seen. But our flag is still there.

Walking through the passageway of artifacts - bombshells, spyglasses, paintings - was a multidimensional stroll through the very lyrics so etched in the hearts of America. The exhibit shared the observed inspiration for Francis Scott Key’s words, detailing the battle in the War of 1812. Overture not included.

an athletic war anthem

It is now meme-able how ridiculously hard it is to sing our national anthem. With Meryl Streepian range, achieving any semblance of beauty within its full major 12th span is a tall order, even for a decent singer. It requires vocal athletics that won’t be found in any shower this side of the Mississippi. And as for lyrics, it’s a recollection of battle. Heavy artillery and enemy fire win out over spacious skies, purple mountains and the feet of pilgrims. Even if it’s a fact that makes us uncomfortable, the outcome of war defines history. So it is.

But, regardless of what the words are about, what does it mean? An anthem, that is. How does a group of notes and words represent a nation? Is it a song to which we owe homage? Or a song that exists to serve us? The song that provides an umbrella under which all men and women can stand? Or is it song that defines how we should shape ourselves to be considered American?

it sounds familiar

Many years ago, I was brought in to start a choral program at a high school in South Central Los Angeles. Yes, that South Central. The one that gets negative press. The one where young people work extra hard to have access to the start of something that looks like a pursuit of happiness. On day one, I passed through security into the classroom where I also had a guard checking in on me, thinking about how I would start gearing these kids towards two- maybe three-part harmony in the next few months. It would be hard work, but I figured it was doable. I was there on a trial basis to see if the program would have any traction with the students.

The bell rang and a rush of twenty kids came in the room. I quickly learned they had signed up for choir as it got them out of an academic class. All but two of them had no real interest in being there. Regardless, I began. Warm-ups…nothing. Scales…forget about it.

Within minutes, I accepted that I was wrong thinking about complicated musical goals for this group. We would have to start at the very beginning. A very lowly place to start. To make matters more interesting, at the end of my first day, I was informed that our burgeoning crew had been invited to perform at a Teacher’s Convention two months later. Pressure was on. After hitting my head against a wall for a week, I thought of something they likely already knew that I could just polish up: the national anthem.

Through security. Into the classroom. Guard in place. “Okay, let’s sing the Anthem.”

(Radio silence.)

“Anyone?”

(Snickers. Foot shuffling. Whispered expletives. More silence.)

I played it on the piano and sang it for them. A few faces revealed moderate recognition. My expectations dropped yet again. On the upside, there were a few warm bodies in the room who had at least heard the song before.

of sports i sing

From Little League to NFL, you can find the same cast of characters during the anthem: a yet-to-break singer throwing down some riff-filled soul, athletes singing, athletes not singing, children with the wrong hand over their chest, coaches teetering and distracted, a sound engineer working mics, sentimental crowds with tears in their eyes. It’s all there. Every time.

The battle-themed connection between Star-Spangled and impending sports matches makes sense: you love your team and she loves you back. You’ll fight to the end in her defense. To take a moment to honor that relationship in song is a beautiful thing (If the range were more reasonable, it would be more beautiful…but I digress). And for veterans within earshot, thoughts of “country over self” scale up with “rockets red glare.” For those dedicated to and protected by Lady Liberty, it is a powerful moment. Sacred even. Honoring gratitude, sacrifice and pride.

Does everyone feel this way during the anthem?

Twice a week for a month and things were just beginning to stick

The gig had been set. We were heading to the Queen Mary in six weeks to perform at the teacher convention. It was happening, ready or not. As predictable as a sports movie, the students and I started to enjoy each others’ company and actual work started to happen (cue the montage). I learned the backstories of a few students. Heard about their neighborhoods, their families, their churches. I heard about incarcerations, the challenges of growing up around gangs and the physical threats that surrounded their daily lives. Any curiosity I had about how these teenagers didn’t know our anthem had been satiated; these young people were busy surviving or, at best navigating, their circumstances.

They asked many questions along the way about what certain words or phrases meant. I explained. They joked and retorted. And then we moved on. By week five, the words were all nearly memorized. The performance was coming up soon. I wondered what we’d have to show for it. And if any of what we were doing would stick- or mean anything special to them. A small thought started to enter my mind: although I had intended well, was I putting these anthem words into their mouths for show? Does this song mean the same to them them as it did to me? Did this song unite us? Or further highlight our differences?

I had been prepared by my supervisor that many of my students wouldn’t be able to attend the Saturday performance at the Queen Mary, as parents of these kids might be wary about letting their kids go with us. But we kept at it.

two golden gifts

Throughout my young life, I grew up with privileges it would take me decades to recognize. In high school, I was given two incredible gifts that would indirectly shape my future. One, a teacher. A really really great teacher. Great as a musician. Even greater as a human being. His name is David Briggs. Mr. Briggs gave me endless encouragement in every musical endeavor that crossed my path. He gave me opportunities to experiment with arrangements for his choirs. And he even shared his podium with me so that I could conduct my concoctions. And two, a group of friends and fellow students in the choir who, instead of making the situation a hotbed of whispers and eye-rolling gave me the gift of respect and responsiveness. Although I doubt I was the kind of young person capable of such a thing, I do hope I gave them a sense of ownership in this process. Because without their cooperation, my concoctions would’ve quickly landed in the can. (Thank you, Bears!)

My high school was like many suburban schools in the Midwest: Lots of great sports. Abundant athletic talent. Community support around the young men and women making us proud. We had access to great coaches, supplies and facilities. So the anthem was sung. A lot. But always one of two ways: 1) straightforward and predictable, or 2) someone trying to channel Whitney Houston.

So familiar was I with this song that I wanted to change things up. Make it in a way that meant something to me. My senior year, I wrote a version of the Star Spangled Banner (during my English and Math classes)(my apologies, Mr. Frost and Ms. Swanum) and was given the opportunity of conducting the choir singing it at our graduation ceremony (see video below).

the rubber hits the water

The morning of our debut on the Queen Mary, my supervisor rented a van and drove to the homes of the kids he hoped were going to be allowed to attend. A few snafus presented themselves along the way and our number went down from twenty to four. Four to pull this off. My only hope was that these four actually knew the anthem. That they weren’t sleepers in the back mouthing words and just biding time until the bell rang.

The Queen Mary - birthed as a luxury cruiser, renown for her WWII activity transporting troops - is permanently docked fifteen miles away from where these kids had grown up. But none of them had seen it before. After recovering from the sight of this highly unique setting, our quartet settled down enough to warm-up. It was time to see what our version of the anthem was going to be.

Here we go.

to knee or not to knee

Okay. Back to my fantasy that America the Beautiful is our anthem. Do you suppose if we were singing about mountains and feet would there be greater inclination to listen to what is trying to be communicated by those taking a knee? Would shoe salespeople and park rangers mistake the message of a bent knee as a slam to the benefits of hiking trails and well-fitting flats? Could the anthem still be positioned as a political weapon if military battles weren’t included in the lyrics?

For some folks, the national anthem is a representation of something to be revered at all costs, like a sacred artifact we are fortunate enough to touch. For others, it represents an ideal of what America should be, but isn’t. And if American isn’t what it should be, then the song can’t - or shouldn’t - be sung.

teachers poured in and took a seat

I needed to provide some kind of explanation - direct or implied - for the diminutive size of our group. But how to do so? Should I explain that some kids take an active role on the weekends in protecting their siblings and parents? Or that these kids, in ten years of public school, had never engaged in extra-curricular activities and their parents were distrustful of the situation? I put on a face, engaged the crowd in some warm-ups, and gave warm well-deserved recognition to the kids on the stage for being there. But the shtick was over quickly. It was time.

The kids were nervous, but excited. I played a simple introduction, ending with my eyebrows raised and the smile that cued the start:

Oh say can you see
By the dawn’s early light
What so proudly we hailed
At the twilight’s last gleaming.

They sang well. Or well enough. I was happy and they were happy. And best of all, we took them to McDonald’s afterwards to celebrate. What could be more American than that?

just dots and lines?

An anthem isn’t just dots, lines and words. It’s also “something else.” A something that demonstrates committment and loyalty. Is a national anthem a gift to its people? An ideal played out in notes and lyrics that we can share in? Or is it something to which we owe loyalty? I grew up in a life so beautifully cared for by our nation that, by the time I was 16, I felt compelled to write a new version of the anthem as a way to show the full extent of my praise. So grateful was I that I wanted to add to the canon.

But in places not so far away, where thoughts like those don’t apply, how can you sing the song? Would you even know the words?

I recently added this version of the Star-Spangled Banner to my catalog. Perhaps the notes, range and style will fit what you are looking for. But if I may take it one step further, will you honor this request? Please offer your performance to all Americans: Those who sing the Anthem. Those who don’t. Those who never learned the words. Those who know it by heart. Those who have fought for it. Those who are grateful. Those who are angry and want to be heard. Those we have wronged and with whom we need to make amends. Those who were born here. Those who call America their home.

This belongs to you.

Lynn