Send In The Clowns
Even Charlie Brown Can Change The World
A couple of months ago, my mom came to visit for a couple of days, before we all took off to celebrate my little sister’s wedding. As she was unpacking, I started dabbling around on the piano and began to play the melody of Stephen Sondheim’s “Send In The Clowns” — a song from the musical A Little Night Music that went on to become a standard. 1973 being a bit before my time, I didn’t know the song all that well, so at some point I started ad-libbing the melody and chords a bit, as I am often wont to do.
My mom — a former teacher — stopped me. She told me that I was playing it beautifully and that I should someday record it for others to hear, but that I first need to learn how to play the song properly. So, I took Mom’s advice: I learned it properly and recorded it. Here’s the result:
“Send In The Clowns” is a particularly unique and cleverly composed song. Despite being masterfully-written, it was not an immediate pop hit. According to Sondheim, the song languished for two years before records by Judy Collins and Frank Sinatra helped to catapult it onto the charts. The song is one of regretful resignation; a lament that might have been a love song, were it not for time and circumstance. The titular exhortation to “Send in the clowns” is an old theatrical trope: when things fall apart onstage, the best way to salvage the production is by papering over the chaos with jokes and amusements. It’s an apt metaphor given the subject matter, and there is even a subtle, clever M. Night Shyamalan twist in the penultimate stanza, as the song’s protagonist comes to the realization that the unhappy non-couple are the proverbial clowns being referenced (“Don’t bother; they’re here”). Although it is ostensibly being sung by one character to another, it seems as though it is really meant to be sung inwards, with its lyrical questions all posed rhetorically.
Put simply, it’s an OG “emo” song.
Resignation, regret, and tragicomedy are deeply human emotions, which is partly why this song went on to transcend its music theatre roots to become such a beloved standard. Certainly, all of us have experienced that moment of capitulation; that moment where the best we can do is laugh at the absurd impossibility of a situation. And certainly, many observers of current events feel this way today, as the quest to restore stability to an ever-fractured, increasingly chaotic world seems to turn ever more quixotic.
Today’s sense of capitulation has manifested itself in many forms: Artists feeling too uninspired to create. Writers feeling too hamstrung to write. Academics leaving institutions they once championed. Young people giving up on the idea of someday owning a house of their own. Older people giving up on the idea of passing a brighter, more optimistic world down to their children and grandchildren. Tough times are one thing, but tough times accompanied by a profound, widespread sense of estrangement are quite another. It is no wonder that we have all come to feel a bit like Charlie Brown, forever failing to kick the football.
Certainly, a great deal of this alienation has come as a consequence of the rise of social media and the decline of in-person, community-based participation. Social media excels at its media function of efficiently disseminating juicy narratives, fodder for outrage, and redefined language newly co-opted for political ends — but not so much at its social function of building trust in one another. As our collective trust — both in one another and in our institutions — eroded, our modern conception of a politician mutated from that of a public servant to some bizarre mix of celebrity and WWE pro wrestler — a mutation that has further weakened our trust in not only politicians, but possibly in celebrities and pro wrestlers, as well. Our well-informed electorate threw up their hands and resigned themselves to become a well-entertained electorate instead, watching the circus from the cheap seats.
It’s easy to see why. Indeed; when we view the world through the lens of contemporary media, it seems as though nearly everyone and everything has become a caricature of reality, with an accompanying discourse written in comic sans font thrown in for good measure. While our natural inclinations may guide us towards participating in the modern-day “town square” out of a sincere desire to improve the world around us, engaging with this caricatured reality has become near-impossible for those of us that wish to remain sensible. Today, engaging in the marketplace of ideas as a reasonable and reasonably empathetic person too often requires one to mentally square the circle of supporting concepts and ideas that are valuable to society, while simultaneously rejecting the ham-fisted, callous, and sometimes grift-laden ways that they are proposed to be implemented by members of our political class. The farce of this is that we have been led to believe that rejecting the latter somehow invalidates the former; that there is even a circle to square in the first place.
Under such exhausting mental conditions, is it any wonder that so many of us surrender to such feelings of resignation? That we might view contemporary discourse with such profound alienation, watching as our collective consciousness descends into a blue-checked maelstrom of competing narratives and uncompromising tribalism? That the best we can do is to send for the clowns?
As an artist, the vast majority of my work deals with reimagining popular songs in different styles. That being said, I always wish to respect the composer’s original intent, as best as I can. As I approached recording “Send In The Clowns,” however, I took a big liberty: I deliberately removed any sense of capitulation from my recording of the song. Reflection and recognition, yes; I kept those in. However, in place of the usual resignation that ends the song, I chose to strike an opposing tone: resolve.
“Resolve” is an interesting word, because it may be alternately used as a noun or a verb. It’s a word that doesn’t just talk the talk, but also walks the walk. It’s my hope that instilling a bit of resolve (noun) into ourselves will give us the strength to resolve (verb) not to lapse into resignation or hopelessness, when times are difficult.
How might we find our resolve today?
Well, for starters, I don’t believe it’s by sacrificing any of our 27,375 or so days on this planet to participate in an endless, digital war of straw man arguments; to do that is simply to become a caricature of ourselves. The failed, illusionary promise of social media is that each of us has the ability to profoundly change the world from a smartphone in a comfortably air-conditioned room, simply by typing the right things on the right apps. Social media behemoths, political operatives, and corporations are smart; they understand that appealing to our ego is a surefire way to lure us into trading our self-determination for a mirage of meaning. They trick us into channeling our energy inwards; into propping up our self-image in service of their goals. In the end, we never do catch up to that mirage, and the days that we spend fighting windmills on social media we never get back.
No; I believe we avoid slipping into resignation by avoiding the circus altogether and thinking smaller — much smaller. We can’t change the world, but we certainly can change our world, by focusing on making a positive impact at the level where such impact can truly effect change, starting with the people closest to us. Perhaps this means giving the bulk of our energy to our families. Or, maybe it means offering strength and support to our friends and communities — whether they be local, or online. Right now, we should aim to reduce the amount of loneliness around us and to simply remind others that common decency is still common. We should still support and engage with the causes that are important to us, but we should do with care — and without handing over our autonomy to any caricature of a political party, eager to use us as digital cannon fodder in their narrative wars.
How might we resolve to change our world for the better?
Even as time goes by, the fundamental things apply: Doing what we say we are going to do. Leading with honesty and fairness. Extending forgiveness and charity to others. Learning new skills and passing the knowledge onto to others. Taking our losses in stride, and refusing to gloat over our wins. Striving not to make ourselves admired or beloved, but to make ourselves helpful to others. Engaging in such a basic way on such a small scale may not be celebrated in the caricaturesphere, but in our own small spheres of influence, these small acts compound indefinitely. And over time, that small sphere might just blossom into an entire world of its own. A world of less virtue-signaling, and more virtue-rippling. A world of less cancel culture, and more kindness culture.
It’s basic, I know. But sometimes, basic is what is needed most — and I use this term not in its co-opted, “pumpkin spice latte” sense, but in its basic, “provide a stable underpinning to our society” sense.
While this version of changing the world is less glamorous, less news-worthy, and far more effortful than issuing 280 character missives into the void, it’s also a lot more real than the caricatured version of “changing the world” that is often sold to us online. I believe that this is the way we defeat our feelings of resignation: by walking the walk and doing our part to help build strong, supportive communities, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
My own father understood this well. He studiously avoided the spotlight and spectacle, and famously (to us, his family, anyhow) viewed social media as anathema — for reasons the rest of us might have failed to understand at the time. Alongside my devoted mother, he worked hard and heroically to help build a strong, supportive family, and in this task he quietly succeeded. Above all, he never, ever gave in to feelings of resignation. Not even after he was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Indeed, the last lesson in resolve he taught me was the most important one: always do the best you can, no matter the circumstances. To his very last days, my father walked the walk.
History is the story of humanity somehow managing to endure and overcome crisis upon crisis, time and time again. Each time that it does, it’s not the result of those at the top of power hierarchies saving the world. It’s the result of lots of individuals — whose names may never be recorded by history — acting heroically by walking the walk, in their own tiny spheres of influence. The same goes for today. All of our amazing, world-changing technology doesn’t change who we are and our own individual limitations in engaging with a complex, dynamic world. There is nothing new under the Sun; perhaps this ancient, basic piece of wisdom is that stable underpinning we need at this particular moment. Perhaps our goal as conscientious individuals should not be to make history, but to learn history, instead.
I hope that you enjoy this solo piano recording, and — if you’re in need of a little motivation in defeating feelings of negativity — this accompanying letter, as well. It may only be words projected on a screen — a caricature of a real, handwritten letter — but it is from the heart, nonetheless. Yes, the world is a generally chaotic place right now, and it’s all too easy to throw up our hands and simply bemoan the madness around us. I’ve certainly been there; I was in that place when I quit social media and started this newsletter. However, to spend too much time lamenting society’s flaws is just another way of focusing one’s energy inwards — instead of outwards, where it belongs. It’s worth remembering that Charlie Brown only keeps failing to kick the football because he agrees to keep engaging with a caricature of a game. At some point, when he inevitably turns inward in emo-ness to contemplate his defeat, he would be better served to ask himself, “What are you going to do about it?”
That’s the moment when Charlie Brown grows up. And perhaps now’s the time for the Charlie Brown in all of us to grow up, and to start thinking a bit like my father. Identifying problems is the easy, comfortable part. Solving them may require a lifetime of clear-eyed pragmatism and quiet diligence. So be it. We’ll do the best we can.
Go on — Send In The Clowns. But forgive us if we don’t pay them much mind.
There’s work to be done.
-SB
You can follow my complete piano playlist on Spotify here.