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Here are one YouTube video and two very cool mp3’s relating to the University of Michigan, in my completely impartial opinion, the super-number-one-best-school-ever. U-M-ers will most likely, probably be familiar with them.

1 Formally, adventurously entitled “PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT” but informally known as “Space, Bitches” (as coined by EDSBS). From EDSBS’s entry:

2 The Victors, as performed on the University of Michigan Health System’s Michigan Difference Campaign:

3 Sweet Home Ann Arbor, via a capella group The Friars:

(Pssst… I originally wrote this essay for a musicology class in March 2007. It’s been tinkered.)

I received an email from the University Musical Society (UMS) this January after the holiday break, advertising the society’s winter/spring lineup of shows. I scrolled through the list of performers—a classical pianist, an Irish dance company, a chamber orchestra—in order to find a show that might be, quite literally, worth the price of admission. I felt as if I hadn’t fully taken advantage of the numerous out-of-class opportunities offered through the University of Michigan, so I wanted to pick a show that tested my limits a little.

I eventually settled on a show entitled Songs We Love at Hill Auditorium, featuring Wynton Marsalis and Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra. Marsalis was one of the only performers I recognized in the UMS lineup. Well, actually, “recognized” might be too strong of a word. I knew he was a famous jazz musician, but I couldn’t name any of his specific works. In fact, I didn’t really know anything about jazz and couldn’t name any specific jazz works. But I wanted to learn. Marsalis seemed intriguing in other ways, too. My former music theory GSI, Kasaun Henry, had studied with Marsalis in New York and raved about his instrumental skills. I also looked up Marsalis online and learned he was the first jazz musician to win a Pulitzer Prize. So he had that going for him.

Knowing that tickets would probably sell out in cosmopolitan Ann Arbor, I quickly ordered a pair online. I even talked myself into selecting some of the best seats in Hill—fourth row from the front. I figured that if I were going to try out jazz, what better way to do it than at historic Hill Auditorium, in great seats, with the “most outstanding jazz musician and trumpeter of his generation?”¹ If I didn’t enjoy jazz under these conditions, I would never enjoy it.

* * *

On March 15th, one of my friends and I walked up State Street to Hill Auditorium. The time was about 7:50 p.m. As we passed North University Street, I could feel something unique in the air, an unmistakable buzz that radiated from the auditorium. I saw young, impeccably-dressed couples mingling on the front steps of Hill. I saw an old man and woman walking hand-in-hand across the street. (I know what you’re thinking—and no, they weren’t homeless.) Instead of the usual denizens of the Diag, I saw, in a rare sighting, the real Ann Arbor—educated, refined, and classy. Something special was brewing.

My guest and I passed our tickets to the usher and entered Hill. The elegant lobby seemed perfect for the crowd socializing about in it. I felt vaguely as if I were entering a grand hall in Vienna to listen to a Beethoven symphony. After all, I was about to witness the best of “America’s classical music” in one of its finest auditoriums (“finest” according to a venerable source—me). As we passed through the lobby into the main floor, I experienced the same sensation—the sense of smallness—as when I had walked for the first time into Michigan Stadium (The Big House). The passageways and exterior of both structures were deceptively intimate relative to the grandiosity of the arena. My sense of space had been distorted.

We found our seats with the help of one of the ushers, an elderly man who most assuredly had been volunteering at Hill since the Pre-Cambrian era. (It’s one of my favorite eras). The tickets were as good as advertised—fourth row from the front, to the right side of the main floor. The only downside was that I didn’t have a full view of the piano located on the other side of the stage.

At the time, I couldn’t help but look stare at the crowd that had packed the 4,000-seat auditorium. These people looked so eager, so visibly energized for the show that would soon begin. There’s something about this music that moves these people—I thought to myself before the show began—and I want to know what it is.

Wynton Marsalis and his band came on stage to a roaring, standing ovation at about 8:20 p.m. The band was comprised of fourteen men, including Marsalis himself. They wore black tuxedos and navy-blue bowties. They didn’t really walk or march as much as they strutted on stage. There was little uniformity in the band’s actions. I thought to myself that they weren’t stiff, haughty, and rigid they way I had perceived an orchestra. The band was arranged in three rows of four members with a pianist on the left-front of stage and a drummer tucked behind the pianist. Marsalis, the music director, sat in the middle of the top row. One final thought occurred to me as the lights dimmed and the crowded quieted: This orchestra didn’t look like the color of jazz as I had envisioned it. About a third of the Lincoln Center Orchestra were white, including, I would learn, two of its best soloists. The show began.

Marsalis opened with a brief introduction from the back row of the orchestra. “We’re here tonight to swing as hard as possible,” he said. “This is a meat-and-potatoes, cheeseburger-french-fries-and-a-milkshake, football-on-a-Saturday-afternoon kind of program.”² The crowd laughed. He then announced the band’s first piece, “Sunny Side of the Street” by Duke Ellington. In marked anticipation, the quiet crowd suddenly gasped, “Ohhh…”

The music started. With three trumpets, two trombones, and a handful of saxophones, the sound of brass dominated the piece. The full orchestra played together for a few moments, loud and forceful, establishing the basic melody and structure of the song. This is when “the revolving-door pattern of solos that would repeat—though never exactly the same way—throughout the evening”³ began. In these solos, members of the band, sitting casually and comfortably in their seats, would nod in approval at particularly masterful playing. At times, even, these other band members would smile, laugh, and talk with each other as if sharing a joke. It was all very casual, but the band members clearly loved the music. It seemed as though they would pay to see this concert.

The band played a few more songs, including their rendition of “Sweet Georgia Brown.” This was one of the few songs I might have been able to identify, but the melody was blurred to the point of making it unrecognizable to me.⁴ Various soloists—trumpeters, trombonists, saxophonists—would take turns as the rest of the band watched. Sometimes, the drummer or pianist would provide a steady backbeat for the solo. Often, though, a single band member performed as all of Hill and the rest of the band watched.

I can best describe the music as being very brassy. It had the unmistakable timbre of jazz, the kind of music one might hear while flipping through public radio or television. There was no singing at all and only a slight amount of harmony. If I had to peg it on a musicology syllabus, I would probably place in the swing era of Duke Ellington, Glenn Miller, and Benny Goodman.⁴ But it wouldn’t fit perfectly here; Marsalis’s band seemed to be more comfortable performing abstract solos than playing as a group. The focus was on the talent and flair of the individual performer. Looking back, the band’s unsynchronized entrance onstage made sense; why would the band members coordinate their entrance onstage when they were rarely coordinating their playing?

After intermission, Marsalis announced that the band’s next piece would be “St. Louis Blues.” I had studied the song, originally composed by W.C. Handy and performed by Bessie Smith, in class. Like “Sweet Georgia Brown,” it was virtually unrecognizable to my ear; the song could have been a completely different piece. There was no singer. There were few harmonies or chords. The trumpets were muffled by strange looking apparatuses—one of which reminded me of a plastic top hat. There wasn’t really a melody. What would have been the melody was toyed with so much that it seemed to me as if each soloist were playing random notes. I had enjoyed the song as we had studied in class, but this version was too abstract for my taste.

By this time in the concert, about three-fourths of the way through, I realized I didn’t like jazz (or the kind of jazz I was witnessing at the time). I realized this fact because I was very bored, and you can only read the program/pamphlet thingie so many times for entertainment. Yet what made the biggest impression on me was that the concert was unquestionably a success to the majority of the audience. They applauded before (when an arrangement was introduced), during (after any of the solo performances), and after (a loud ovation) all of the pieces. The elderly women sitting next to me, for example, laughed at all of Marsalis’s bad jokes, but it was the music that really got to her. During one of the songs after intermission, I remember seeing her with her eyes closed and smiling, taking in the music as if the show were a religious service. Maybe it was akin to a religious experience for someone who had grown up on Duke Ellington, George Gershwin, and John Coltrane and linked Marsalis’s sound to her childhood. I’m right, there is something about this music that moves this woman—I thought to myself at the time—it’s a way for her to relive memories and reconnect with loved ones. If I were her, the music would move me too.

I don’t mean to say that the only way Marsalis’s music was appealing was because he had evoked memories. Many young people crowded into Hill that night who bought tickets to this concert because they loved the sound of jazz as Marsalis presented it. Rather, I mean to say that one of the key qualities of the Lincoln Center Band was their veneration of the past. Marsalis himself would use words like “masterful” or “classic” to describe an arrangement, an arrangement that was usually a standard from over fifty years ago. True, Marsalis and his band were sublime musicians in their own right, but they also sold tradition to their audience—and tradition can be appealing to all ages.

The last piece was a lengthy encore performance by only Marsalis, a trombonist, a drummer, and a bass player. The crowd was mostly on its feet at this point. (I was on my feet too, but mostly because I was ready to get the heck out of there). Standing on the left of stage, Marsalis bobbed around his unmuted trumpet in a circle as he played with his eyes closed, cheeks puffed out, and knees bending with the flow of the music. His fingers were a blur as they moved quickly over the valves of the trumpet. The sound itself was lively, brassy, and sharp. It was filled with slurs, arpeggios, and what seemed like modified scales. I may not have loved the music, but I still could appreciate and enjoy Marsalis’s talent.^6,7

Endnotes:

¹“Wynton.” 6 Apr. 2007 http://www.wmedev.com/flash/wynton4.html.
²Stewart, Will. “Marsalis Swings, and Then Some.” Ann Arbor News 16 Mar. 2007. http://www.mlive.com/entertainment/aanews/i….
³Ibid.
⁴Ibid.
⁵After all, Marsalis’s band played a Duke Ellington arrangement.
⁶My mother actually offered to take me to see Marsalis in East Lansing no more than two months after I had written this essay. I declined.
⁷Images in this post courtesy of UMS (no. 1) and allaboutjazz.com… (nos. 2 and 3, depicting a concert in Philadelphia, PA).

Here is my video on Clinton’s commencement speech at the University of Michigan on April 29, 2007 in Michigan Stadium. My attempt at a full transcript of the speech is contained in this post.

More video (of perhaps higher quality) is at U-M’s site:

http://www.umich.edu/news/index.html?videos#sprcom07.

At the University of Michigan, in Michigan Stadium, on April 28th, 2007.

I couldn’t find a transcript on U-M’s site or on a newspaper’s, so here was my attempt. I also have video that I may or may not be posting online later and may or may not be offering for download. Details to come. Super good.

Note: Clinton’s speech begins after he receives an honorary Doctor of Law degree.

CLINTON: “Thank you. Thank you very, very much. I am delighted to be here—delighted to be given this degree by the University of Michigan’s first female president. Has a great ring, don’t you think?

“I have—I have had a wonderful time already; I have so many memories and associations of this University. When we were walking in, I told President Coleman that we were marching to William Walton’s great coronation march, “Crown Imperial,” which I first heard played on an old-fashioned LP record by the University of Michigan band in 1963. I still own that record, and it’s still a great band.

“The President mentioned my great friend, the late Eli Siegel, who loved the University of Michigan and is smiling down on me today. He used to kid me that maybe someday I could get a degree from a real law school.

“There’s another member of my cabinet here today—my former agriculture secretary Dan Glickman, who runs the Motion Picture Association now. He also went Michigan Law School. And Lieutenant Governor Cherry, I thank you for being here. Congressman Ron Klein from Florida is here. I have many friends in this audience.

“I am particularly grateful for the students who were mentioned who worked in Rwanda in our project where we’re trying to help the country rebuild. There are eleven other Michigan students who went all the way to Papua New Guinea to help to set up our AIDS project there. And that’s an important little example of something I want to talk about today because half of all the languages still spoken on Earth are spoken in the small country of Papua New Guinea—more than 300 of them. So, that’s an example of how involved you are with the larger world.

“I also couldn’t come to Michigan without echoing what the president said about President Ford. He and I became great friends after we were both out of the White House. We spent two memorable days playing golf against each other in 1993. We lied to each other about sports stories. He was a truly wonderful man.

“I’d also like to acknowledge—since I’m here in the football stadium, which I have watched on television a hundred times—that this is, I think, the first graduation to occur after the passing of coach Bo Schembechler, who as most of you know was quite an ardent Republican. So I was thinking as I walked down here today—I considered a philosophical question being on university soil that I had never before considered: which is whether it is possible still to switch parties in the afterlife. And whether it would be moral to pray for such a result.

“I want to say how inspired I was by what Jo-Anne Pemberton and Abdul El-Sayed had to say and also how impressed I was by the previous remarks of Provost Sullivan, Dr. Smith, and the twin messages of Dean McDonald and President Coleman—exhorting you not only to be successful but to be good citizens.

“I want to take just a few minutes today to ask you to think about how you’re going to define your citizenship—your citizenship of your nation, your community, and the world. And how would you reconcile that with all your various identities—your national citizenship, your gender, your race, your religion—all the various things that distinguish you one from another?

“We celebrate today, as has already been said, the completion of your academic journey. For that it is largely, I believe, a time of joy, pride, gratitude, and relief. We celebrate the beginning of the rest of your life.

“How will you define your citizenship? This is one of the most exciting times to be alive in all of human history. It is exploding with opportunity yet marred by inequality, insecurity, and clear unsustainability. It is bursting with knowledge, increasing in an exponential degree.

“Just in the least week, we have learned that several genetic markers have been identified which are high predictors of diabetes and that there is a planet going around a star—one of the hundred closest to our planet—that may have an atmosphere enough like ours that life is possible.

“And yet, at the same time, much of our common life and much of the world’s politics are shaped by religious, political, even psychological fundamentalism that requires people to dehumanize those who disagree with them. And, because it is an ideology that is enclosed, ignores evidence whenever it is inconvenient—the total antithesis of what you were taught to do here.

“This is an amazing time of cultural creativity. I mean, look at this campus. You have people from every state, from eighty foreign nations, from every race, every faith, every political persuasion, every walk of life. Yet, we live in a popular culture in America that often richly rewards people who make a living just putting other people down—demeaning them, defining them by their very worst moments.. There for a while in New York, the tabloids told me more about the current length of Britney Spears’s shaved heads than what was going on in Iraq or the debates over economic policy in Washington.

“In order for you to make the most of your education and your aspirations, you have to be able to answer a few basic and fundamental questions about what kind of citizen you’re going to be. And I’ll give you real short answers because I know what you’re really interested in. But this is important.

“First, what is the fundamental nature of your world—the twenty-first century world? Most people say globalization—I far prefer interdependence because this is about more than economics and travel and even information technology. This is about the increasing web that binds us to together, the increasing diversity within all rich countries. And interdependence has no necessary value content; it simply means we cannot escape each other. Divorce is not an option.

“Second question. Well, is this world basically good or bad? My answer is both. More good than bad, but both. Its benefits are self-evident here. I don’t want to embarrass your senior speaker, but I wish every person in the world who believes that we are fated to have a clash of civilizations and cannot reach across the religious divides could have heard you speak today. I just wish every person could hear it.

“So there’s a lot of good here. But the world we live in is—I will say again—unequal, unstable, and unsustainable. Half the world’s people live on less than two dollars a day, a quarter of all the people who will die this year will die of AIDS, TB, malaria, and infections from dirty water—and 80% of them will be under five years of age.

“In American, we’ve had five years of economic growth, productivity growth, a forty-year high in corporate profits. Median wages have been stagnant. There has been a 4% increase in the number of people working full-time who have fallen below the poverty line and a 4% increase in the percentage of working families working full-time who have lost their health insurance. It’s an unequal world.

“It is also an unstable world because, while I think it is highly unlikely that the twenty-first century will claim as many lives from political violence as the twentieth did, this time we know it could be our life.

“But think about it. The twentieth century claimed nine million in World War I, twelve million in World War II, six million in the Holocaust, twenty million in the purges in the former Soviet Union between and after the wars and after World War II, an untold number in China in the Cultural Revolution, two million in Cambodia, millions in the African wars. I think it is unlikely that this new century will claim that many people from political violence.

“The difference is, when you pick up the paper and you read about somebody in London thinking about putting a explosive liquid in a baby bottle to make it look like baby formula to evade the airport inspectors, you think about you being on an airplane. Or, in my case, I think about my daughter.

“It’s important to remember that on 9/11 there were 200 Muslims murdered and people from seventy other countries. So we all feel somewhat insecure. The prospect of weapons of mass destruction could be spread around to non-state actors makes us feel insecure. The prospect of having a global epidemic of avian influenza where the mortality rate is still about 60%, and we don’t have a vaccine or a cure makes us feel insecure.

“And perhaps most important, this world is unsustainable because of climate change and resource depletion, which is not as much talked about but may bite your future even before the most severe aspects of climate change. The erosion of drinkable water, of topsoil, of trees, the disappearance of plant and animal species at the most rapid rate certainly in human history and perhaps the hundreds of thousands of years before.

“And all of this will happen at a time when the world’s population is projected to grow from six-and-a-half to nine billion in people by 2050—almost all of that growth in countries least able economically to support new people. That is the world you will live in. It’s gonna be great for you, but you have to try to change it because it’s unequal, unstable, and unsustainable.

“So the third question is: How would you change it? My answer is: we should move from interdependence to integrated communities locally, nationally, and globally that have three characteristics that all successful communities have. Shared opportunities to participate, a shared sense of responsibility for the success of the outcome, and a genuine sense of belonging because unless we make our societies deeper and unless we all feel responsible for their success, then sooner or later it won’t matter how educated you are or how wealthy I’ve gotten in my old age—I’ve probably the lowest net worth of any president in the twentieth century. It won’t amount to a hill of beans.

“And maybe the most important thing the easiest to say but the hardest to do is a genuine sense of belonging. You had a man and a woman speaker, a Muslim and—I think—a non-Muslim. You have Christians and Jews and Buddhists and Confucians in the audience. For the purposes of your being here today, what makes you a community? Not the fact that you’re wearing a uniform—and all kinds of interesting things underneath like money(?) shoes.

“Why did you feel the need to applaud and shout and cheer when your speaker was talking about what it meant to be here at Michigan? Because you think your differences are more important—they matter. But on this special day, what you have in common matters more. That is the ultimate simple test of humanity’s future. Are our important differences or our common humanity more important? You have to decide. You have to decide for our common humanity. And that’s why you have to define your citizenship in an active, engaged…

“Fourth questions. How are we gonna make these communities? We’re going to have to have a security policy, of course. But security alone will never be enough in an interdependent world because you cannot kill, jail, or occupy all the people that aren’t with you. And when you can’t, you have to value cooperation over unilateralism, and you have to try to spend more time, more money, and more effort making a world with more partners and fewer adversaries.

“Every time you do anything to give a poor village a clean water well, or help children get basic health care, or offer an education in a foreign country where just one year of schooling is worth another 10% of income per year for life—you help to make more partners and fewer adversaries. We know how to help put all the kids in the world who don’t go to school in school—130 million of them, we just haven’t done it. We know how to build adequate health systems to deal with AIDS, TB, malaria, childhood diseases, maternal child illnesses. We know how to give people the means to work themselves out of extreme poverty. And we know something else, it’s all much cheaper than going to war. It’s the least expensive thing you can do

“So, we live in an interdependent world that’s good and bad. We need to build integrated communities. And we have to do it with security, with cooperation, with more partners and fewer enemies, and, finally, with constant attention to home improvement in our communities and our nation. America will never be able to support what it ought to be able to do unless we can get rid of this rampant transport inequality here, unless we can do our part on climate change, unless we can solve the healthcare problem.

“Those are the three things I think are most important. Now, building more broadly shared economic opportunity, solving the healthcare crisis, and doing something meaningful about climate change—I believe will launch the greatest explosion of new jobs for college graduates and non-college graduates alike this country has seen in thirty of forty years—if we got serious about it.

“And the last point I wish to make is this: it is not enough to vote and pay your taxes. It is not enough. Because private citizens have more power to do public good today than ever before. Citizen service is an old tradition—Benjamin Franklin organized the first fire department, volunteer fire department in America, before the Constitution was ratified. When Tocqueville came here in 1835, he said the remarkable thing about our country is when we have a problem, we just roll up our sleeves and solve it if we possibly can.

“Now, there are millions of non-governmental groups around all over the world that give people of very limited means the power to change the world. The internet means you don’t have to be rich to have a financial impact. When a tsunami hit South Asia, Americans gave over a billion dollars. 30% of our households gave. Over half gave over the internet. The median contribution was less than $60. But together, people with good hearts and kind minds who understood the interdependence with their fellow human beings moved the world.

“So, whether you leave here as a scientist, or a writer, an engineer, a businessperson, an artist, remember this: you must be a citizen. And it’s more important now than every before, but it’s always been the truth that the world we live in is interdependent. You do not exist as a totally separate being in a society.

“In South Africa, where I do a lot of work, they have a wonderful word for it—ubunto. It means in English “I am because you are.”

“In another part of the continent where we work at, where most people walk and never ride anything, in the north central highlands, when the people meet on trails one says “hello” and the response is not “hello.” The response is “I see you.”

“Think how many people there are in your home, community, in your country, and in the world who never get seen by anybody—if you see them; if you know that you are because they are; if you understand that you have more power and therefore a greater responsibility to move our common enterprise forward than any previous generation of young people—then, sure, climate change is a problem; sure, religious and political discord is a problem; yes, Darfur is an atrocity; yes, we have to do something about all these problems in America; yes to all the things you say.

“But none of those problems is beyond the reach of our common endeavors. All we have to remember is that it is our common endeavor. God bless you, and good luck.”

—Bill Clinton, 42nd President of the United States, 4.28.07