Now that The Syncopated Times has achieved nonprofit status and stands on the verge of its tenth year of publication, the excitement in this office is palpable. In fact, the nervous energy has taken on the appearance of a small woodland creature. I’m not sure what it is, actually. It might be a squirrel, but it is wearing a pith helmet and jodhpurs. Perhaps it is time to repair our screens. But Mr. Squirrel shares in our eager anticipation of the coming year.
Big changes are in store for 2025, you bet! Beginning in the January 2025 issue we will publish “Games of Chants,” a monthly column dedicated medieval church music—with a twist. Gregorian Swing is a genre both profoundly traditional and the absolute latest thing. Some novitiates in Switzerland started screwing around with it last year. Imagine the serenity of a thousand-year-old monastery with string bass and percussion. With conga drums, “Latin” music takes on a whole new meaning. The Hot Friars are dropping their album on Bandcamp next month. Listen for free or make a small donation. A nominal sum gets you a CD with illuminated booklet. Tithing is welcome but not mandatory.
February marks our ninth anniversary in print with all the hoopla that implies. We may just get naked. Or, more likely, we will tell you we’re naked while remaining clothed. It is, after all, February in upstate New York. Editorial frostbite is not pretty, as you now cannot help imagining.
In March, we look back beyond cakewalks to, you guessed it, marches. John Philip Sousa wrote “The Washington Post March” and J. Bodewalt Lampe wrote “The Buffalo News March.” Which one of you plucky composers will write “The Syncopated Times March?” We certainly deserve a march more than the stinky old Washington Post. Competing tunesmiths may pick up their pencils and start composing immediately. The winner will receive a year’s subscription to this paper and a Certificate of High Merit hand-lettered by the Editor with a genuine Sharpie marker.
April is “the cruelest month”—though we have no way of knowing just how cruel it will be. Who will get voted off Syncopated Island? Austerity is just around the corner. Don’t press your luck or push my buttons. I’d go myself but I’m irreplaceable. It will have to be one of you lot.
May 7, 2025, is the hundredth anniversary of Paul Whiteman’s recording of “The Charleston.” It is our plan to devote our entire May issue to that epoch-making event. We also plan to get life-threateningly drunk on alcohol of dubious provenance—just like in the “Roaring Twenties.” (The 2020s have not even begun to roar.) Of course, your Editor has other reasons for the binge which may include, but are not limited to, getting another year older and tireder. Please send your bicarbonate of soda to the usual address.
Mr. Squirrel reminds me that June is wedding season. Wedding bands, anyone? Who’s in one? Who’s in rehab after being in one? Who had the best (or worst) one? What band has the hottest arrangement of “The Chicken Dance?” Does the drummer ever “get lucky” with one of the bridesmaids? (Your anonymity is guaranteed.)
July Fourth will be glorious this year for those without pets or PTSD. The Syncopated Times will use some of its hard-won grant money to enter a parade float in the form of a bandwagon, with a full brass ensemble playing “The Syncopated Times March” (provided somebody writes it). And who is that waving the baton? Is it John Philip Sousa? Is it Paul Whiteman? No, it’s your Editor, trying to look like he knows what he’s doing. (Why should today be any different?)
August is traditionally “silly season.” Bucking that trend, we observe Insect-Borne Disease Month, in which we caution readers to be aware of West Nile virus, Zika virus, dengue fever, Lyme disease, etc. The August issue may be rolled up and used to swat pests—mosquitoes, flies, and your cousin with the persistent cough. (Use the print edition only, please—I’m not replacing your cracked smartphone.) Why get sick when the sun is shining? Save the chills and sniffles for chicken-soup weather.
In September, the kids are back in school. The rest of us get stuck behind those yellow buses all afternoon. Feel free to drop off your gently-used copies of The Syncopated Times at the music room. Budding musicians need to know there’s a world beyond their present cacophony. Just don’t explain your Editor’s jokes to them or we’ll all get put on a list somewhere.
As for next October, November, and December—who can say? Once the fog of pumpkin spice descends everything gets blurry. To be brutally honest, I can’t even see past next week. I’m working entirely from the notes Mr. Squirrel has provided me. Be assured that those months will unfold as they should, with enough syncopation for us to remain relevant. It bodes well.
Returning to the present, I am grateful to all my readers for remaining on board through nine years of monthly nervous breakdowns, and for helping us to stay afloat as we pursued nonprofit status. This gig feels like a great deal of flagpole sitting. It should get somewhat less stressful as we lurch into the new year.
The holidays feel like a major hurdle—and steeplechase was never my strong suit. I hope as we move forward we remember always to be patient and kind even to those who appear to lack patience and kindness. It’s always been a lonely old world though it would be less so if we saw each other at our essence underneath the superstructure of faction and baggage. I look at you and I see a person in there!
(Not you, Mr. Squirrel. I was talking to the nice reader…)
