Stop Asking Celebrities to Sing Our National Anthem

It was the first game of the 1918 World Series. The Chicago Cubs were playing the Boston Red Sox in Chicago. The country had entered World War I the previous year, so the baseball season leading up to this series had been cut short — men of draft age had been given a deadline to join the war effort.

During the seventh-inning stretch, the military band in the stadium tried something new. The song they played was an old one, and it had been played at baseball games before — typically on special occasions, like opening day. But it had been recently rearranged by a team that included the renowned John Philip Sousa. When the band broke into this new version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” there was no script to follow; everything was improvised. Players took off their hats and faced the flag. Fred Thomas, an active-duty sailor who played for the Red Sox, struck a military salute. As for the audience: “First the song was taken up by a few,” The Times reported, “then others, and when the final notes came, a great volume of melody rolled across the field. It was at the very end that the onlookers exploded into thunderous applause and rent the air with a cheer that marked the highest point of the day’s enthusiasm.”

The moment was powerful enough that the band played “The Star-Spangled Banner” again at the second game of the series, and again at the third. When play moved to Boston, the band there played it, too — now at the beginning of the game, and accompanied, in one case, by the presentation of wounded soldiers who had been given tickets. The song has been played at every World Series game since. In 1931, it became the nation’s official anthem. By World War II, the spread of electronic public-address systems meant it could be performed — and eventually sung — at every professional baseball game, not just those where someone hired a band.

Today it is a fixture at most all American sporting events, professional and amateur alike. (In many countries, the national anthem is typically played only before international competitions.) Promising young vocalists sing it at local games. Celebrities vie to perform it at high-wattage events like the World Series and the Super Bowl. What was once a novel, improvised wartime gesture has become a ritual — something we expect as a matter of course.

It is a tough gig, whatever the circumstances. The song’s melody is notoriously difficult to belt out. Amateur singers are cut plenty of slack — it’s the spirit that counts — but pop stars are held to a high standard. We ask them to apply their talents to stir us into special contact with our own love of country. But we ask them to do so as part of big-budget, for-profit spectacles, in a media culture that valorizes novelty over tradition.

Anthem fails constitute a subgenre of their own.