Kennedy Center Closing
An artist's explanation. Ethos first, all else second
My commentary on the Kennedy Center closing has one purpose only: to offer an artist’s explanation of why America and the arts find themselves at this crossroads. I have no intention, or enough facts for that matter, to take on all the ancillary issues, including something like, “Hey, what about the National Symphony Orchestra musicians and Center employees put out of work come July 2026?”
In short, we find ourselves at this crossroads because the ethos of Donald J. Trump and the ethos of most artists, of every variety, are at extremely incompatible odds. This is the first thing—above all else, including political and social differences (as real as they may be).
Now, and in years to come, it will be fashionable in some circles to say that the closing happened because a liberal faction plotted to destroy the good work the President was doing to make America (and the Kennedy Center) great again. Uh, no. Is it factual that many working artists are likely to be anti-Trump? Yes. But again, humor me. Let’s not go there first. Let’s start with that first thing first—the incompatible ethos.
Before I tackle it, though, let me state a fact. Artists have always faced authority figures and business incompatibilities and found ways to adapt and function. We are very familiar with being co-opted, put in unexpected and uncomfortable situations, and dealing with some block dog, mammoth ego—often bigger than our own. Brent Bourgeois and I were managed by one such famous character, Bill Graham in San Francisco, a man you did not want to become unfriendly with. Rock history books and documentaries are filled with Bill-on-artist encounters that would cause any musician to tremble. Final point: we’re sensitive, but we’ve seen it all.
Bill Graham pointing back to the Fillmore stage implying “What the hell was that?” I refuse to make eye contact. 1986
Next: what do I mean by ethos?
It’s that ancient Greek word that refers to the space where one lives long enough for patterns to settle into character. In Aristotle’s Rhetoric, ethos is about being a certain kind of person in public. Where logos addresses what we say and write, and pathos how something is felt, ethos concerns itself with being and doing. That is, speaking, imagining, and creating—and what kind of life story all of that tells.
If we turn the dial toward the arts a few more clicks, my artistic ethos is the signature left by my repeated artistic choices, across time, within community, and in the world. Those choices become a dual architecture of trust—both visible and invisible. It is the way my artistic voice carries history without having to narrate it didactically. My artistic ethos makes clear that I’ve had a long apprenticeship to the full range of human character and to the various arts I practice.
As an artistic ethos matures, it is always sorting—explicitly and implicitly. It is doing that thing of making the artist the same person in private and public. The most aspirant, authentic artists are those who work to close any gap between their public art-making and their public speaking or professions. We have no issue with saying, “I won’t do that again.” As a wise person said, there is no creativity without problem-solving.
By the time we (artists) have reached an age most of us would agree constitutes reasonable maturity, we hope to have settled a few things:
We’ve ceased people-pleasing and sucking up to authority, especially authority that has no expertise deserving of respect.
We’ve adapted—and gratefully so—to an arts-for-meaning framework rather than money alone. More bluntly: the artistic ethos teaches us that not everything in life should be publicized and monetized, that sometimes saying no to exposure and cash is what makes us better artists and citizens.
We’ve come to believe that all we have is this one life to tell a long story (also known as a reputation and a sustainable career). It will not be without mistakes. But as we mature and our artistic lives find some stability, we wisely choose not to associate with people, corporations, or institutions that are radically contrary to our values and artistic ethos. We’re grateful to have audiences who understand our art and motivations. We don’t want to confuse them with contrary behaviors or appearances.
These three points are sufficient, though hardly exhaustive. Gotta keep movin’.
The greatest evidence for the incompatible ethos between artists and Donald J. Trump is his inability to anticipate the mass artistic disinterest in associating with him in the context of a revered cultural institution. For a man his age, I ask, how disconnected from reality does one have to be not to discern this? The answer I arrive at is that it’s radically impossible for him to understand the artistic ethos at all. It is so contrary to his way of being and doing.
However you map Trump’s ethos, it is the opposite of the artist’s. So opposite that it functions like opposing forces, which effectively disallow collaboration. It naturally produces the artistic response: “No thanks. I’ll pass.”
Did it have to end up this way? No. The President did not have to insert himself into the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. He did not have to change the name to include his own above that of the congressionally approved living memorial. He did not have to take over the board and make himself chairman and emcee. And most importantly, he didn’t have to denigrate the building, the previous contributors, and repeatedly claim he would make it all great again.
Right. I forgot how much Aretha Franklin’s version of “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” sung for Carole King’s Kennedy Center Honor, sucked.
When artists hear the President’s public speech, they immediately think: you are the last person in the world who should be making choices about this institution or the arts. There is no respect. And where there’s no respect, there’s no foundation for trust or collaboration. That’s just a fact—unless you’re desperate for attention or money. And most candidates for a Kennedy Center engagement have long since passed that base need; otherwise, they wouldn’t even be in the running. This is the answer to why so many artists are able to flatly say no to performing under Trump’s stewardship.
Just the other day, a friend of mine—a national social and political commentator—repeated the trope that Trump is smart, intelligent. Personally, I don’t understand the impulse to tag him this way. There are varied intelligences and gifts, sure. But one I’m confident he does not possess is the pattern recognition required to see the heart, mind, and ethos of the artist across centuries.
He wasn’t intelligent enough in that way to see this coming. Perhaps he believed his gut, his own morality, his will to power could attract and book one great artist after another. He may be unable to admit it, but it’s clear he did not anticipate that most artists have no interest in being associated with him—particularly, artistically so, for a variety of reasons.
In my opinion, as I view history, Donald J. Trump’s ethos can be defined as a performative ethic of dominance and grievance, marked by transactional loyalty, indiscriminate norm-breaking, empire-building, and a disturbing confidence that he alone is the embodiment of institutional trust, moral consistency, and at the Kennedy Center—artistic credibility. No, and then again, no.
Can this be fixed now? Of course. The President admits he misread the room, steps aside, and has his name removed from the building. A respected arts executive is put in charge, and the board is rebuilt to reflect its long tradition, a diversity of voices, bipartisanship, and yes, even the President’s right to appoint board members. This act of humility—or strategy, if that’s all there is, would go a long way toward righting the ship and bringing the artists back.
Donald J. Trump lost this one. He bankrupted the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts by losing the performing artists. Hard to have an arts center without them. He doesn’t need a bailout from Deutsche Bank this time, though. All he has to say is, “I was wrong.”
A first step toward understanding first things.
In case you missed last weeks new music post, “Only One Life” here you go:
Spot on, Charlie. And that photo of you and Bill Graham - yikes!
Love this! Well said.