Oh, say can you see?

The fate of every civilization has often hung on the shoulders of extremely young men, and the more desperate and lost the cause, the younger the men. Our country began as the under dog. Our fight was desperate, and it’s a miracle we won.

I probably should have published this the first week of July, but I am a slow and ponderous thinker and loathe to shoot from the hip as it were. A career in hot takes is unlikely to ever be in my future.

And anyway, why can’t we celebrate our independence all month long?

As I contemplated recording our national anthem in honor of this month’s big holiday, I had two things on my mind.

First, was this song from the musical 1776:

Momma, hey momma, come lookin' for me
I'm here in the meadow by the red maple tree
Momma, hey momma, look sharp, here I be
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

Them soldiers, they fired. Oh ma, did we run
But then we turned round and the battle begun
Then I went under, oh ma, am I done?
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

My eyes are wide open, my face to the sky
Is that you I'm hearin' in the tall grass nearby?
Momma come find me before I do die
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

All:
I'll close your eyes, my Billy
Them eyes that cannot see
And I'll bury you, my Billy
Beneath the maple tree

Courier:
And never again will you whisper to me
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

— Sherman Edwards

I suppose there are no reliable records for how many teenage boys died on battle fields calling for their mothers during our war for independence, but I doubt it was just a few.

The average age of the Continental soldier, according to most sources I looked at was 18-30, but a young man of 16 could enlist without parental consent and a good many lied about their ages to enlist anyway.

The very youngest soldier was a seven-year-old drummer, Nathan Futrell of North Carolina. In Connecticut, Richard Lord Jones had just turned ten and served as a fifer. In the article linked below, you can read more about the Revolutionary War’s child soldiers.

Child Soldiers of the Revolutionary War

Though these very young boys weren’t immediately fighting hand to hand combat, their presence on the battle field at all was plenty dangerous. A stray bullet or shrapnel, could have easily found them.

It’s unthinkable to our modern ears. Yet, we’ve not faced a kill or be killed situation in quite awhile…about 160 years.

Over 25,000 men and boys died during the Revolutionary War. Doesn’t sound like much, but the population of the American Colonies was only 2.5 million at the time. It was a massive blow.

“About one percent of the population died in the war,” explains Michael Patrick Cullinane, a professor of history at Dickinson State University in North Dakota. “That would be the equivalent of losing three-and-a-half-million people in a war today.” The war’s toll left a shortage of young males to work on farms, in a new nation where agriculture was the dominant industry, he notes.

The second thing on my mind was a statement by Mike Rowe:

It seems that the dirty jobs guy is as fed up with celebrity, fancy-pants, show-off renditions of our national anthem as I am. They seem, oddly disrespectful.

I will quote an excerpt of what he wrote here and link to the video:

The Star-Spangled Banner is not easy to sing. It’s rangy, for one thing. One and a half octaves are a lot to ask of the average citizen, as is the chromaticism throughout the melody. Also, the words are a mouthful and easy to mangle or forget (Just google “worst renditions of National Anthem,” and strap in. The number of professional musicians who have unilaterally beclowned themselves for posterity is mind-boggling).

Personally, though, I’m more appalled by the professionals who remember all the words and hit every note perfectly but make the whole thing about themselves. This, I think, is the biggest reason most people don’t sing along as they should. It’s not because they “can’t sing” or because they’re embarrassed to sing in front of other people. It’s because of all these pop stars and professional musicians who have turned the privilege of singing our national anthem in public into a showcase for their own talent.

Consider the famous renditions from people, like Whitney Houston, Alicia Keyes, Jose Feliciano, Marvin Gaye, and most recently, Chris Stapleton. Each give excellent performances that put their talent on full display. But that’s the problem—all these performances with all these individual interpretations have turned We the People into an audience of passive meat bags, standing mutely in stadiums and arenas all over the country, when we should sing along with unbridled enthusiasm. We don’t do this, however, because our national anthem has morphed from something participatory into something performative. And that sucks.

You can see his measured and characteristically thoughtful critique here: Mike Rowe

I don’t know if my recording above would pass muster to the inestimable Mr. Rowe (I am a high soprano, after all, and can’t quite get down into the lower registers with the rest of the normal American population), but I can’t help thinking that if this nation’s celebrities could be transported to a battle field circa 1777 or thereabouts to hear the cries of the wounded and dying…or if they could see a father or grandfather carrying scars, missing arms or legs, maimed…

Well, I think they couldn’t help but sing the song differently.

And so here is my offering, sung with as much gusto and good cheer as I can summon, but with a good dose of respect.

Happy Birthday, America. May we someday deserve what we’ve been given at such a costly price.

That’s all for now. Until next time, folks…

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