This blog post recaps the final choral concert at Jacksonville University, CONNECT: State of the Art, performed April 24, 2025 in Terry Concert Hall.
The performance is archived here: https://www.youtube.com/live/qsSzOXTjgqw?si=rN9VROKRT86_RPyZ
When I began selecting repertoire for this concert more than a year ago, I was planning a unique collaboration. Our choirs would sing music inspired by visual art, and visual artists would create in response to the music we were singing. It would be a cooperative game of artistic Telephone, part of a season dedication to human connection.
Since then, we have shared stages with the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra, Amelia Island Opera Company, the Order of Malta, and NASCAR drivers. When we joined forces with theatre in the fall, I had no idea just how prophetic, We Got Trouble would turn out to be. When we partnered with creative writing and dance in November to “reimagine” myths and legends, how could we know that our college would soon be playing the role of Jephthe’s daughter? And when we hosted 250 students to work with the legendary Deke Sharon, 400 two-year college students for the Winter Symposium, and 100 low voices in our TeBa festival, who knew that these would be the last in each series? Yet here we are.
Nine days before the concert, the administration of Jacksonville University shocked us all by announcing that the entire music program would be closed at the end of the semester, along with theatre, world languages, and many others. Additionally, they fired several tenured faculty members in those programs as well as in the sciences and humanities, leaving majors with 50+ students in the hands of a single full-time faculty member. Understandably, the focus of our concert shifted a bit.
I asked students what we should do, and they suggested that we reprise our favorite pieces from the year, invite alumni to join us, and reach out to theatre to see if they would collaborate. As the students and I collaborated, we agreed on two things. One, we would sing until we could sing no more (literally, thanks to our administration). Two, we would go out in a blaze of glory. The show that resulted included 37 pieces of music, a one-act play (written by terminated theatre professor Deborah Jordan), several student instrumentalists, most of our music faculty, and a partridge in a pair tree. Well, no partridge, and it was an oak tree (more on that later). Each set of music is named for a choir concert or season theme from the last six years.
With so much rep, so many alumni and guests, and so little rehearsal time to “put it together,” I knew this concert wouldn’t be perfect. But that’s OK, because perfection was not what this moment called for. We needed joy. We needed catharsis. We needed connection. Most of all, we needed authenticity. Frankly, the people who caused all of this to happen could use a healthy dose of those things too. I’m not sure they’d recognize “authenticity” if it slapped them in the face.
Authenticity is exactly what we provided. Tears were shed. Laughter erupted. Smiles radiated. Love abounded. Choral music at its core is humanity on display: a unique combination of vulnerability, preparation, confidence, and community. A team working together to make magic happen, and that’s exactly what we felt last Thursday.
Both of our missions were accomplished.
If you don’t have four hours to listen to the entire concert, there are a few pieces that I heartily recommend:
The opening triptych, Living Meditation #1, Wayfaring Stranger, Draw Us Near
Just in Time (navigating the twin plagues of war and ignorance to find resurrection) 23rd Psalm, Blue Phoenix, Vincent, Victimae
What Was I Made For? (perhaps the best crafted choral arrangement of our generation)
Flowers—now a direct reference to JU discarding the arts, rather than a disrespectful lover
Lullaby/True Light—what started as a promise to help someone who was sick is now a promise to help these students wherever their paths may go, with the light of Fran Kinne blazing the trail.
Call Me But Love/Wake Up My Spirit—how we move forward in times like these
Painted on Canvas—perhaps the best RiverTones performance ever. Beautifully arranged, sung with nuance and passion, filled with meaning to meet the moment.
There Will Come Soft Rains—the last piece an ensemble of JU music majors and minors will ever perform in Terry Concert Hall
In preparing for the concert, we discovered and planted some Easter Eggs that I wanted to share before I forget. Think of this as the director’s commentary track. 😊 I’ve also included all the quotations from faculty and graduating seniors that were included on the slideshow during the concert.
Living Meditation #1 is a throwback to the spring of 2021 when Dr. Fahad Siadat joined us as a guest artist and composer-in-residence. That happened during the pandemic, so he participated virtually from Las Angeles, and we learned so much from him. Two lessons from this improvised piece that I’ll never forget were included as quotations on the screen. “If you notice that something is missing, sing that,” and “A lot of music tells us what to do. This piece allows us simply to be.” It has since become a pre-concert tradition for JU Choirs, but it usually happens backstage or outside. Tonight, we invited our family and friends in the audience to join.
Side note, in the original, Dr. Siadat improvised solos throughout the work, but on a 15-second delay (that’s how long it took for our live video to get to Youtube, then to LA, and for his signal to get to Youtube and back to Jax).
You can find our original performance here for comparison: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0olr29yoUuM
Wayfaring Stranger “In service to the music, we equally gain from what we impart. In service to the music, we share and grow in art, in expression, in community, together. It lives through our students; it lives through our teachers. It is eternal, has no price, and can never be taken away." –Professor John Ricci, Artist-in-Residence; Director of Jazz Studies
Draw Us Near was on the first concert that I conducted at JU, an invitational combining Creekside and Riverside High Schools. This was the closer to the concert, bringing everyone involved together. JU alum and director of choirs at Riverside HS, AJ Neaher has told me that his students asked to sing that song again and again in the years since.
We’ve repeated it for our role as the choir for the Order of Malta Mass of Anointing, and it always seems to fit the moment. Maybe someday, we’ll no longer need to plead for an end to war, pain, injustice, and suffering, but for today, there is Draw Us Near.
“My time in the music department has brought me back to my love for music.” –Noah Ellison, Bachelor of Arts, Music Performance ‘25
That was the fastest tempo we’ve ever taken for Like What You Got. Sorry, not sorry. 😊 This was the first piece Choral Union rehearsed after I received my invitation to a private meeting with the Provost and started putting together what might be happening to our beloved department of music. The singers had no idea what was happening at that moment, and we were just having a good time. However, I couldn’t help but think about the lyrics becoming more and more poignant by the second: “stop that cryin’, laugh a lot. Just be happy with what you got, ‘cause if you can’t have what you want, then like what you got.” Take nothing for granted. This work was a reference to the painting, Broadway Boogie Woogie, created by Piet Mondrian in 1942.
Some scholars think that the model for Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa was actually his apprentice and likely lover, Salai. Our choirs are among the most diverse organizations on campus. Many races, ethnicities, religions, sexualities, and backgrounds coming together for a united purpose. Da Vinci would have been welcomed in our choirs. Would he be welcome in your community? We loved how this arrangement features our beloved and frequent collaborator, Chi-Yin Chen in a style that Lawrence Welk would have televised.
Beethoven’s Choral Fantasy, Op. 80 is a piano concerto with choir that was clearly a precursor to the 9th Symphony. The choral theme bears a striking resemblance to what would later become known as Ode to Joy.
Two words hold prominence in the text: kunst (art) and kraft (power). Beethoven never loved the text he set, so he gave others permission to change the lyrics with one caveat: “kraft” could not be moved from its position atop the pair of triumphant Eb to C major resolutions. The power and supremacy of art had to be respected.
To this, Annamaria Iglesias, Bachelor of Fine Arts, Musical Theatre ’25 responded with an Ossie Davis quote: “Any Form of Art is a Form of Power; It has impact, it can affect change, it can not only move us. It makes us move.”
Professor of Art History, Dr. Laura Winn suggested Pair of Flower Still Lifes by Leopold von Stoll as an example of the kind of art Beethoven would have enjoyed during his life in Vienna.
Infinitus was our first-of-its-kind, student-led, new-music choral collective. The students crafted two sets that each tell stories. The first begins with a warning of impending judgment but then invites us to leave judging to the fates and instead spend our time loving. Beneath the Snow of winter, spring is waiting to burst forth, so let’s just rest and let it unfold.
We also love supporting local composers. Signs of the Judgment was arranged by Mark Butler, DCA at Florida A&M University, and Karen Crane, mother of Infinian Jonah Crane, co-composed Beneath the Snow (and joined us for the premiere).
I Had No Time to Hate, “If you want to be blessed, be a blessing, and you have all been blessings to me.” --Dr. Jay Ivey, Professor of Voice; Director of Vocal Studies
Beneath the Snow, “A piece that helped me grow as a conductor, and the last piece I’ll ever conduct at this school.” --Naudimar Ricardo, Bachelor of Music Education ‘25
The University Singers have performed Emma Daniels’ 23rd Psalm several times now, both on tour and on campus. It has never felt more relevant or profound than it did in this concert. We all feel like we have been walking in the valley of the shadow of death. We mourn the loss of our beloved department of music (note the especially powerful statement of “Requiem” from the tenors), but we fear no evil. We find comfort in the rod and staff of music and community. We persevere. Professor of Horn, Matt Monroe wrote, “Nothing worth doing is easy. Keep going!”
The pairing of Blue Phoenix and Vincent speaks to the persistence of art. The equally destructive forces of war and ignorance may establish obstacles, but they will never silence artists, for we are the “creative current” of society. Only the artist can muzzle themself. If anything, roadblocks serve only to make creatives MORE creative. In finding new avenues of communication, we perfect our craft. For us, “Vincent” is a stand-in for the many programs that were decimated by ignorance, and “they” are all who fail to see the value of these disciplines in shaping thoughtful, caring, empathetic citizens. “They would not listen; they did not know how.” JU was never meant for ones as beautiful as these.
Blue Phoenix “Without music, we live in a colorless world. The students and faculty of the division of music at JU made art for 94 years. It will never end.” –Professor Tony Steve, Professor of Percussion and Contemporary Music. Originally programmed because it sets a quote from a visual artists and references Esam Pasha’s Tears of Wax series.
Vincent “People hate the things they cannot understand.” --Shrek the Musical; —Natalie Ealum, Bachelor of Arts, Music ’25. Originally programmed because of its references to Van Gogh’s The Starry Night.
Victimae Paschali Laudes again reminds us that there is always hope. Even as the “victim” was resurrected three days later, so too will every artist, faculty member, and individual hurt by these decisions find new life. We will succeed, and JU will regret that they let us go. As Bernstein once said, “This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”
We Rise was the closing number from our spring show, Well-Behaved Women. Directed by Kimberly Beasley and Dina Barone, Professor Beasley’s quote provides important context for why we do what we do: "To me, someone making music is the best version of that person. We are at our most vulnerable and performative all at the same time. It invites others to participate in that experience, so it is welcoming. Musicians, keep on being the best version of yourself! You all are amazing. Love you and miss you."
Viva La Vida was inspired by Frida Kahlo and her heartbreaking life story. Despite tremendous medical setbacks, she found ways to continue creating art, even while bedridden. Her last work includes the title of this song and painting written on a slice of watermelon, and it continues to inspire us to this day. To this, I added my catchphrase, “Music allows us to practice living without the risk of dying.” The stage is the perfect place to take risks. If we make a mistake, nobody dies, but if we hit on something beautiful, our audience might for one fleeting moment experience true living. For this reason, we performers continue to “live the life” of public risk.
Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah has inspired generations of musicians and fans, and this performance was no different. #POJU has said that JU doesn’t expect people who “like to play the piano” to become “nurses or engineers”, but RiverTone Melissa Molano defies his ignorance. As a graduating double major (BFA Musical Theatre & BS Communication Sciences & Disorders), she exemplifies the power of combining a performing art with science. She wrote, "This has always been one of my absolute favorite songs (thanks to Pentatonix and their beautiful Christmas music) so when I found out we were singing it not only here but at Disney World, one of my favorite places, and with my favorite group of ladies, all under the direction of my favorite voice teacher ever, Professor Barone, I knew it would have a special place with me forever. Now more than ever, it definitely does and always will. Love you Tones ❤️"
Jennifer Lucy Cook’s arrangement of What Was I Made For? may be the best crafted arrangement of our generation. Just when you think it’s over, there’s a beautifully unexpected modulation, and the portamento (slides) at the end remind us that even the ground beneath our feet can shift at any moment. Both its text and Cook’s setting remind us to take nothing for granted and fully engage with every joyful moment. It could be our last. Professor of Classical and Flamenco Guitar, Dr. Brian Luckett’s words are especially powerful in this context: “There will be times in your life when your passion for your art is all you have. It will be enough to carry you through.”
We’ve performed Flowers several times this year, casting it as a jilted lover realizing that the other person never really cared about them, and more importantly, that they never needed the other person in the first place. In this show, we used it as a statement made directly to the JU administration. Recognizing that they have never valued our contributions, we’re going to buy our own flowers now. We sincerely hope that they never again have live music for their VIP holiday parties, commencement ceremonies, and donor events. They’ve taken musicians for granted for far too long, and now the find out stage has arrived. “We were good, we were gold, the kind of dream that can’t be sold.” This kind of self-actualization echoes a song lyric that Dr. Marguerite Richardson, Director of Orchestral Activities, recommended: “Home—build it behind your eyes, carry it in your heart, safe among your own.” —James Taylor, Enough to Be on Your Way
Demon tells the story of a man who was so dangerous, the faculty—I mean, the community tried to restrain him, but he broke every chain and kept escaping. Then, a different kind of person was able to help him see life differently, and his life was changed forever. May the “demons” on our campus find a similar transformation.
Demon was originally included on this concert because of its graphic notation—a beautiful combination of music notation and visual art.
I programmed Testament of Freedom for our final TeBa Day as a reminder of the ideals upon which our nation was founded. Jefferson’s text now includes considerable irony, especially the idea that the US would always be able to pull Europe out of despotism (hopefully, the EU will be able to do that for the US).
In recent days, we’ve discovered that JU is a microcosm of the culture in which it exists. A despot has consolidated power, ignored the advice, requests, and will of the faculty and students he claims to lead. He has gathered a board of sycophants who have made one poor decision after another for many years, and now that the receipts are catching up, he eliminates the lowest-paid professors on campus to cut costs. Never mind the fact that the entire department of music (salaries, benefits, concert budgets, etc.) cost roughly the same amount as ONE president’s salary, or that our president is paid more than all but two university presidents in Florida (and think of how many HUGE universities there are in Florida), or that he is paid more than the president of Northwestern University, a school whose student body is more than five times larger than JU’s. Did he take a pay cut? No. Did his “cabinet” take pay cuts? No. Just the faculty who have poured our blood, sweat, and tears into this institution for years. The people who did all the right things, followed all the rules, did over and beyond what we were asked. Those are the people who were fired for the President’s mismanagement.
Taxation without representation, anyone? But we will not go “without a hope that light and liberty are on steady advance.” What is our hope?
“The flames kindled on the 4th of July, 1776, have spread over too much of the globe to be extinguished by the feeble engines of despotism (JU’s war on art); on the contrary, they will consume these engines and ALL who work them.”
Hark I Hear the Harps Eternal is a classic for a reason. Alice Parker’s arrangement is joyfully exhilarating, and I’ve taught it to every choir I have ever led with the explicit instruction that it is to be sung at my funeral (and hopefully many more times between now and then). It speaks of a grand reunion in the next life, and given what has happened at JU, it also describes the artistic pursuits that will inevitably follow this setback. Nothing would make me happier than being able to share many future stages with these students, graduates, and colleagues.
Lullaby has worn many hats this year. I originally wrote it several years ago as a promise to my now husband when he was very sick one night, but I thought it needed another verse to be useful as a song. So it sat in a drawer as a personal gift to him that I’d mention or sing every once in a while.
Then, his sister grew sick, and he spent much of last year taking care of her in Mexico City. We had never been apart for more than a couple of days since our first date, so this was traumatic for us both. When I went to visit over the summer, I saw such tremendous love shared among his family. People giving their time, money, and sanity to battle a government bureaucracy and support their beloved sister, and I was once again reminded of the song.
That group love inspired me to translate the song into choral form. Once completed, I proposed it to my dance colleagues for our Myths and Legends collaboration as a representation of Orpheus not wanting to give up on Euridice. We spent the first week of classes roughing in notes and rhythms so the dancers would have something to choreograph, and that’s when our singers started connecting in ways I never expected.
Anna’s brother had recently passed away, and she credits this song with helping her to process that experience. She wrote the unbelievably poignant quote shared during the concert: “In the deafening silence of grief, music becomes the voice of what we cannot say – wrapping sorrow in melody until the heart remembers how to feel again.”
My aunt and grandmother passed away shortly before the semester, and her experience helped me to reflect on that loss through this song. Then, Professor Christina Teague-Mann, a choreographer for Myths & Legends told me that she connected the work to the recent death of her husband.
In every performance, the biggest challenge has been to finish the song without breaking down in tears. In fact, I elected to accompany the choir not because I could play it better than Stephen Chapman (indeed, I played a couple of stinker notes during the show), but because sitting at the piano allowed me not to make eye contact with the choir, and that was the best insurance against all of us breaking down in tears halfway through.
Now, it stands as a testament to one another that despite all that has happened, we will seek and find support in one another, in our alumni, in our families, in our community of artists. “Love is not a sometimes thing, and love is not just for today, but for a thousand sunrises, and many thousands more, I pray.”
True Light reminds us that inspiration lives within each of us. In preparation for this concert, Dr. Fran Kinne has been our north star. An accomplished pianist (here’s a video of her playing beautifully at age 93), founding Dean of the College of Fine Arts, and former president of JU, she added many programs across campus while also growing and supporting the arts. Our current #POJU loved to bring her out for photo ops while she was living and regularly invokes her legacy when it suits him. However, we now know that he didn’t learn anything from her example. I feel like he saw her as a prop instead of a mentor, especially since he has so desecrated her legacy. Nevertheless, our students will not forget her example. As our Recording Studio Director, Professor Jason Perry wrote, “In a world of Tim Costs, be a Fran Kinne.” Note that the three soloists are Theo Austell, first year BFA Musical Theatre, Julian Morris, graduating senior in Music Business, and alumna Jade Perry in Vocal Performance.
One Day More comes from a show that describes how we’ve felt for the last couple of weeks: Les Miserables. A couple of lines took on new meaning in this performance. Thinking about how music and art have forged a beautiful community:
· “I did not live until today. How can I live when we are parted? Tomorrow you’ll be worlds away, and yet with you my world has started.”
· Thinking about how #POJU thinks about musicians: “One more day with him not caring, What a life I might have known, but he never saw me there.”
· Following the many student protests: “Do you hear the people sing?”
· Thinking about the future: “Tomorrow, we’ll be far away, tomorrow is the judgment day. Tomorrow, we’ll discover what our God in heaven has in store. One more dawn, one more day, one day more!”
The second set from Infinitus takes us on another journey. Fire and Ice reflects on how the world might end—the fire of selfishness (desire) or the ice of hate. Again, JU serves as a microcosm for our world. The president makes $1.2 million a year but destroys the income and careers of 50+ faculty members who each make a fraction of that, while simultaneously disrupting student careers as well. We know which path of destruction he prefers. However, we will choose differently…
Graduating Senior, Daisy Howal-Raymond summarizes Fresh Fruit beautifully in her quote: “Fresh Fruit was originally dedicated to the Latino community and their resilience through hardship. This spirit of strength and renewal resonated deeply with me. As a senior in the final class of JU's Music Education program, this piece has taken a new meaning. It's a reminder that even in the face of disappointment and uncertainty, we have the power to choose what we pass on. Like the communities it honors, we endure, we heal, and we offer something better to those who come after us. Only fresh fruit. Only sweet hope.”
In hope, we find love, something Voice Professor and the RiverTones’ Director echoes through Shakespeare: “If music be the food of LOVE, (students), play on.” Given the larger context of the event, don’t miss that this performance of Call Me But Love was the conducting debut for Nickolas Kepe, Junior BFA in Musical Theatre.
Finally, Wake up My Spirit got us all hyped up. We started learning this piece in the fall but couldn’t quite get it together. It has continued to challenge us, prompting graduating senior and conductor Sabrina Tompkins (Bachelor of Music Education) to write, “This piece has been a beautiful challenge for me and Infinitus. It stretched my abilities as a teacher and challenged me to think in new ways. I am honored to conduct it, and I think the text and spirit of the piece are appropriate in this time. As a child of God, the text speaks to the idea of letting our spirits soar higher than the brokenness of the world. We stand together as a music community and will let our spirits soar and sing the melody of awakening and rising up amid our struggles.”
My Shining Hour was inspired by a quote from Winston Churchill: “Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, ‘This was their finest hour.’” Churchill was also a painter, and though prolific in his youth, he completed only one work during World War II: Tower of the Koutoubia Mosque, projected during our performance. Dr. Shannon Lockwood, Professor of Music, Violoncello encouraged our students, “There will always be reasons to not be extraordinary. Stop and eat a cookie, then be extraordinary.”
The RiverTones have performed Turn the Beat Around several times this year, including for Deke Sharon at last year’s contemporary vocal festival, at Disney earlier this spring, and now as our world has been turned around. The first quote from Professor Ted Shistle, Director of Bands, made perfect sense: “I get knocked down, but I get up again; you’re never gonna keep me down.” —Chumbawamba, 1997
I was struck by the joy of their performance and the strength of both soloists, but when the audience started clapping, Shistle’s second quote became especially meaningful. “In a world where there is so much noise, I am reminded of a question posed to us in Dr. Richard Madsen's Behavior Modification course, 'Who claps for you? We are each endowed with the power of choice in this matter and nothing or no one can take away our right and responsibility to determine the applause that resonates within our hearts and minds."
Perhaps the most artistically and aesthetically meaningful work on the program was Painted on Canvas by the RiverTones. This was the only time they have or ever will perform this work in public, and the audience was blessed to hear it. I’m not sure if the recording can fully capture the moment, but between the spellbinding soloists and immaculate harmonies, the spirit in the room was intoxicating. One of the soloists, graduating senior Imani Williams (Bachelor of Arts) reflected, “I love that this song reminds us of the role we have in shaping each other’s lives. It inspires me to be more mindful of my contribution to the canvases surrounding me.”
Painted on Canvas was programmed because of its title, but also because it references the painters Romare Bearden and Archibald J. Motley, Jr. Jammin’ at the Savoy, Out Chorus, Blues, and Gettin' Religion are excellent exemplars of their work during the Harlem Renaissance.
For Good from Wicked has long been a favorite for graduation ceremonies and a part of the RiverTones’ signature spring sing concert. It celebrates the impact we have on one another. In the current context, it is also a refutation of #POJU’s words that “people aren’t coming to JU for these majors” and that these majors are “not ones we do well.” RiverTones alums drove long distances to be a part of performing this perennial favorite one last time, and if that isn’t enough of a testimony for you, consider these words from our graduating seniors:
· “This program healed me. The friendships I’ve made are lifelong, but we are who we are because of our fearless, strong, caring, compassionate leaders. Than kyou, faculty, you have without a doubt changed us ‘for good.’” –Sylvie Watkins, Bachelor of Arts, Music
· “Music can change the world because it can change people.” –Maya Hamilton, Bachelor of Science, Music Business
· “This program has changed me for the better.” –Haley Munoz, Bachelor of Science, Music Business
Putting It Together was the original inspiration for our concert at the intersection of visual art and music. Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George stands as a treatise from one of America’s greatest composers reflecting on the life and struggles of being an artist. The first act describes someone so focused on their art that they forget to cultivate relationships and live life penniless and alone. Even so, they create one of the most iconic works of art in history (Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte). The second act describes an artist so focused on cultivating relationships and making money that he forgets about making meaningful art. In that tension, Sondheim reminds us that art isn’t easy, and that finding balance is what makes it possible, profitable, and fulfilling. Graduating senior Alyssa Stark (Bachelor of Music, Vocal Performance) chose to highlight another line from the show: “I chose and my world was shaken. So what? The choice may have been mistaken, the choosing was not. You have to move on.”
On a personal note, this show has counseled me through many tough moments. When I decided to leave a stable job to pursue my doctoral degree, I was chorusmaster for a production of SITPWG. Before I had told anyone I was leaving, I had to play two weeks of shows, and every night during Move On, I was weeping. Later, when I decided to take another risk and leave Curry College for a visiting professorship at JU, the very lines Alyssa quoted became my mantra. This week, “This is the state of the art” has become something of a rallying cry as my tenure-track position has been eliminated.
Truly, art isn’t easy, but it is powerful.
There Will Come Soft Rains ended our fall collaboration with the Dance Department, Myths and Legends. In that show, it was a warning about environmental stewardship. The text teaches us that after humanity destroys itself, nature will recover and never remember that we even existed. However, we sang it in this concert with a couple of different perspectives. First, it is a warning to JU to be careful what they wish for. They may think that they (like nature) can move on without us, but we think they will come to regret their choice in the not-so-distant future. A life without skilled artists and musicians gets boring in a hurry. Secondly, as I said before, art cannot be silenced, only temporarily diverted. Thus, we artists are like nature—the thing that will long outlast presidents, boards, and financial mismanagement. We will get the last laugh (or insult), as we always do. Graduating senior (BFA Musical Theatre) Ty Lyn’chelle Westmoreland rightly points to Plato: “Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything.”
Finally, we left the room to sing our beloved alma mater one last time “under the oaks” and under the stars. That video is floating around social media, but the cameras couldn’t follow us outside. It wasn’t our most polished performance, but that’s understandable when just about every singer was sobbing between syllables. This institution has been our home for 94 years—the music department has been accredited by NASM for three years longer than JU has existed, and the poor financial decisions of the current administration cut short our journey together. Unfortunately, these graduates and students of JU Music will no longer have a physical college home. Instead, I told them that home will be wherever they are—especially when they are able to gather together—because no one can take way the memories made or the lessons learned during their time here. Also, this campus will never again hear the alma mater sung by an accomplished choir of professional students. We own the song, and it will always live in us.
Let me say that the nine days between bloody Tuesday and State of the Art were a lot like the week between a death and a funeral. I say that having experienced two very difficult deaths and two very difficult funerals last summer. Initially, we were all in shock, and then that turned into grief. Then, we were in full planning/preparation mode 100% focused on the funeral, I mean concert. Those four hours were truly euphoric. We saw and felt raw emotion in sound—love, joy, anger, heartbreak, excitement, judgment—the full spectrum of human experience laid bare on the Terry stage. Every round of applause felt and sounded more vibrant than the last, even as the audience shrank with each intermission. It was an evening that I never wanted to end, both because it was so much fun, and because when it was over, it would be over forever.
Indeed, the morning after the concert was far more difficult than any of the days leading up to it. So many posts recapping what happened, videos of favorite moments, descriptions of the meaning we made together… Every post I read made me weep with what we had all lost—what our city has lost. I honestly don’t know where my next steps will take me. I’ve submitted a few applications, but opportunities in higher ed are exceptionally limited at this time of year. I may spend a year freelancing and helping Ariel with his business before applying again in the fall. In the meantime, I’m grateful for the amazing six years JU afforded me. I’ve taught some amazing students, created unforgettable music and memories, premiered more new works than I can count, spoken truth to power, challenged the norms and expectations of choral music, and—if my students can be believed—changed more than a few lives (hopefully for the better). 😊
At the end of the day, that last bit is what matters most about this concert and about everything we do. If we aren’t improving the lives of people we meet, then maybe we should do something else. If our choices bring more harm than good to people, why make them at all? If we choose to live in a mansion and accept a million-dollar salary while firing employees with mortgages to pay and children to feed, how can we sleep at night? I know I wouldn’t be able to do so. “Let them eat cake,” is what monarchs say, and it should have no place on a university campus. Nevertheless, all I can do is move forward, and that will be my goal.
The oaks of Jacksonville University are older, more beautiful, and wiser than the people now leading the campus. I will miss walking under them every day, but I will miss making music with an amazing community of colleagues and students far more. I wish them careers as hardy and successful as the live oak in front of Terry Concert Hall, and I can’t wait to hear of their many accomplishments.
Fiat lux!
PS. Waffle House at 2 AM is fire.