The essence of programming, and a roadtrip mix

Program is an overused, tired word - anyone can call anything a program. But in the context of the arts, there's a big difference between a quality program and a pointless one, or a season being well or poorly programmed: How well did we really communicate with the audience? Did we do anything to bring new light to the work? Did the art presented mean something together, as a body of work?

A programmer for a presenting arts organization, for an outdoor music festival, say, or a performing arts center, selects work from a variety of sources, to be presented to the public as a collection. A good programmer presents some background information: here's why these works were selected - here's what they mean in context of each other - here is why this work is artistically important, and what we are trying to do for the world by presenting it - here are the themes and ideas that can be extracted from each individually and as a group - and here's what I hope you'll be able to take away from seeing them together. For a producing organization, this function is performed by the artistic director, who selects the work the company will perform that year. At a museum, this job is done by the curator, who selects different individual works and puts them together to create an an exhibit focused on a time period, or theme, or genre.

The important thing, I think, is this: A programmer does not just select random work and set it before the audience, hoping for magical fireworks of understanding, but rather uses his background and expertise to give information, a short, informal education to the audience about the work (plural) and its relevance as a collection.

I went to a concert here in DC of the University of Michigan Men's Glee Club spring tour, in which my brother was singing. I was struck by how extraordinarily well their director, Dr. Paul Rardin, programs and presents the program to the audience. The concert was split into sections, with themes such as "House of God" and "Youth and Pleasure" and "Love and Water" which would otherwise seem nebulous to an audience not well-versed in the music. With Rardin's brief, insightful explanations before each section, however, the audience became privy to the intricacies of sound to listen for, the meaning of foreign-language lyrics, and the connection between the varied cultural traditions from which the songs originated - it was impressive how much meaning was packed into what could otherwise seem to be a simple selection of songs. I could look around and see by the delighted faces responding positively to his witty remarks, many were able to better enjoy and understand the music. A true expert and excellent programmer - who prioritizes not only the music, but equally important, the audience's appreciation for it.

So Rardin being a good example of a programmer, I am truly a lower-end one, but here is my lesser quality example that illustrates my new idea about programming at its simplest:

My mom and I went on a road trip to her home state of Nebraska a few weeks ago to see our family and say goodbye to my grandpa's house. For the twelve-hour car ride west on highway 80, I put together a burned CD for her, made up of songs about "home, travel, and leaving," I called it. Its tone was a solemn one. I pointed out the lyrics to her, "one more song about moving along the highway" in So Far Away, and "Home where my thought's escaping" in Homeward Bound. And as she said, "You know how much I love Carole King!" I said back, "Well, it's my small attempt at programming."

And then it occurred to me, I think the mixed tape (I'm just barely old enough, but I did indeed make mixed tapes in the 90s before CDs came out) is one of the greatest rudimentary programming endeavors that we've all tried our hand at. You put together a collection of carefully selected works with a common theme or story, and hand it off to someone else with a perhaps fumbled explanation, hoping the collective message, if you've communicated it accurately, will be as meaningful to them as it is to you.