08/30/2026
“O blessed art, how often in dark hours,
When the savage ring of life tightens round me,
Have you kindled warm love in my heart,
Have transported me to a better world,
Transported to a better world!
Often a sigh has escaped from your harp,
A sweet, sacred harmony of yours,
Has opened up the heavens to better times for me,
O blessed art, I thank you for that,
O blessed art, I thank you!”
—Translated lyrics from Franz Schubert’s “An die Musik”
Hi Folks,
Kirk Bangstad here, owner of the Minocqua Brewing Company.
I’m cherishing these last few weeks of August, because it’s apparent that Trump will launch a full-scale attack on our elections next month and everyone who cares about our Democratic Republic won’t have much time to reflect upon anything else.
I anticipate a full-scale meltdown in every branch of government at every level when the executive orders start flying, and I want to savor a few more moments of summer before having to jump back into the fray.
After a long bike ride yesterday, I grabbed takeout for Tracy and I at the “Livery”— a bar in Eau Claire, WI. While drinking a beer and waiting for our food, I read an essay by my new friend and frequent contributor to the Minocqua Brewing Company Times, American drummer Michael Jochum. It was about the time he met Michael Jackson, and I was riveted from start to finish.
Michael’s artistry, both as a drummer and a writer, reminded me how much more elevated we could be as a society if we focused on the things that separate us from animals—like the arts, sciences, and athletics. Instead, we’ve been forced to spend too much time mired in the elements of ourselves that haven’t evolved—like tribalism, selfishness, and conflict.
I say this fully understanding that Americans have been given little choice in the matter. If we don’t descend into the pit and fight with the pigs, we’ll end up becoming their slaves.
But before the fight inevitably escalates, I want to write about beauty and the arts today—because I sense there won’t be much time to focus on self-actualization in the months to come.
In 2008, while living in New York City, I was cast as the lead character in Ned Rorem’s operatic version of the famous American play “Our Town.”
As an aspiring operatic tenor who hadn’t quite figured out how to sing the high notes required to perform much of the tenor repertoire, it was hard for me to embrace the artistry of bel canto singing, and I felt a little “stuck” in life as a result.
Luckily, I met an orchestra director while singing in a small production in Brooklyn who believed in me—so off I went to live in Peterborough, New Hampshire, for a few months to get the “New England Premiere” of “Our Town” off the ground.
The role was perfectly suited for me because the tessitura was quite low except for a high “C” that popped out of nowhere in the middle of the show. I told the director from the start that the only way I could perform that note was to float it softly in falsetto while reversing the written dynamics from forte to pianissimo. He agreed to take the orchestra with me in this dramatic “about face,” and we were able to pull it off convincingly.
In those few months of rehearsal, my confidence as an artist and actor grew because I was able to focus on making music and being “in the moment” instead of merely hitting high notes. I started taking chances—not only while acting, but with the music.
I remember having the last note in either the first act or the show itself (forgive my memory, this was 17 years ago,). The note had a fermata on it but the orchestra played for awhile longer.
Because a fermata is, buy definition, somewhat subjective, I decided to hold that note as long as I could in rehearsal, and ended it gracefully while the orchestra kept playing. As the rehearsals progressed, I held that note longer and longer until my voice was barely audible but lasted until the orchestra stopped playing.
The resulting effect was pretty mesmerizing, and during the performances, there would be a long silence after both the orchestra stopped playing and I stopped singing. I remember hearing audience members weeping during those moments of silence.
I write about that memory now, because singing that note for so long in complete coordination with a symphony orchestra, amidst a theater full of people rapt in the moment, was among the most elevated moments of my life.
And that’s why I’m an eternal optimist.
I’ve had enough of those “elevated” moments to know that the human experience is more than just battles over power and scarcity.
I believe that all of us yearn for these “elevated” moments in life, but too many of us experience them so infrequently that we start settling for cheap substitutes sold by messianic charlatans.
America is so much better than what we’ve become as a society, and the more of us who are able to experience these “divine” moments that come from artistic, athletic, or intellectual pursuits—the more we will develop the grace needed to elevate each other’s contributions instead of tear each other down.
I say this with an ounce of hypocrisy, because after years of continuous political fighting, it’s become harder for me to find the grace I need to turn the other cheek.
Yes, our nation is currently lead by a messianic charlatan who is platformed by false prophets. As a result, it too often feels like we’re living in the movie “Idiocracy.”
No, I don’t want to turn on the news and learn that Trump just renamed Lake Ontario “Lake America” to spite Canada. It actually hurts my soul to be forced to reconcile the America I read about with the America that still enables artists to be vessels through which art flows in quaint little towns like Peterborough, New Hampshire.
We need the arts to elevate us now more than ever, and that’s what’s so wonderful about the human spirit. When society is at its darkest, art flourishes out of necessity.
Today, it all happens so fast that my knee-jerk response to the constant assault on our better natures is to use humor—and that’s why I’ve slowly become a satirist. It’s not the highest level of art because it doesn’t inspire us to be our best selves, but it does make life more tolerable—and it now provides the Minocqua Brewing Company another source of income.
And with that, it’s now time to take a bow.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for sticking with the Minocqua Brewing Company.
Together, we’ll get through this time of trial and and rediscover an America that aims to elevate with art instead of dismantle with fear—one beer at a time.
And of course…”An die Musik”….
Kirk Bangstad
Owner, Minocqua Brewing Company/Minocqua Marketplace
Publisher, Minocqua Brewing Company Times.
