A Cautionary Tale

Spring’s arrival means basically two things:

(1) my seasonal depression finally decides to back the fuck off; and (2) parents all over this great nation are compelled—some would say mandated—to attend and/or participate in their kids’ graduation ceremonies.

Now, for me—a guy lucky enough to have graduated from a few things in my lifetime—these ceremonies were chores, not celebratory. Mostly, they were just another hurdle to get over before it was finally summer vacation. I don’t really know how my parents felt about my graduation days, considering they each had plenty of their own. But if they were looking forward to mine, the reason’s lost on me.

But I digress. This piece is a warning:

If you ever find yourself tagged in as DJ for a preschool graduation ceremony, pay very careful attention to the songs you play. Sure, things might go swimmingly—it’s not exactly a high-stakes event, in theory. But trust me: You are in an extremely precarious position. And you cannot afford to fuck it up, or horrible consequences can (and surely will) ensue.

I know this from experience. I’ve done it. All of it. And I’m here to teach you how to pull this nearly impossible-to-nail gig off, against all the petrifying odds.

Here it is: How NOT to DJ a preschool graduation ceremony.

Compiling the School Library

It may (not) surprise you, but I’m an expert on schlock. I love music that’s goofy, pulpy, cheap, and mass-marketable.¹ With that comes a deeply researched knowledge of underexplored musical regions, including the swath of popular music marketed at new parents to be played for their new children—for lack of a clearer genre identifier, Children’s Music ©

My pseudointellectual fascination with children’s music began innocuously.² Shit, the story’s downright heartwarming. I began, as one does, a child—riding carefree through the San Francisco Bay Area in an overbearing child safety seat, giggling my little head off to the sounds of Raffi, Laurie Berkner, and whatever classic rock my Dad was listening to on the radio. It’s probably no surprise that I gravitated toward paternal jams and punk when I started to care about the music I listened to and—eventually—collected.

Fast-forward about twenty-five years. I’m done with law school and back in California, slogging it out through a job in the Central Coast, when I receive the incredible news that one of my close friends (and my former bandmate) from school is now the father of a baby girl. Wow. I mean, holy shit. I mean, wow.

Look—there’s essentially no one on Earth who I’d trust more to raise a kid—even/especially my hypothetical kid—than my buddy and his wife. They are grounded, kind, and wise. But they also live in Pennsylvania, which makes it essentially impossible for me to help out in the immediate sense. It’s not like I can babysit. It’s also not like I would be qualified to babysit even if I was within reasonable driving distance. I needed a plan.

My brilliant idea materialized during a routine “entire CD collection reorganization” session. The previous year, I’d picked up a few big boxes of gently used discs from a Craigslist boomer who turned out to be one member of a notable drag queen a Capella band.³ His collection included plenty of artsy classic rock and some local jazz, along with—you guessed it—tons of shitty kids’ music. I retrieved these from a forgotten corner of my storage unit. I started listening. 

And you know what? For the most part, the experience was exactly what I should’ve expected. Most of this is half-baked, well-intentioned dunce-feed slop. It’s supposed to be educational or heartwarming, but the truth is that the vast majority is pandering, meandering trash. It’s elevator music, or it’s downright fucking obnoxious. So rare was the “worth keeping” kids’ music CD that it upset me. And I thought of my friends’ infant daughter, and I realized that something had to be done. The danger was too great. I had to save his family from the evils of garbage kids’ music.

I took to the Internet CD resale market. Thrift stores, record stores, Craigslist. I was on a mission, man: To find the most unorthodox, entertaining, musically sophisticated, age-appropriate tunes I’d ever excavated from the morass of popular music history. Kids have been around at least as long as music’s existed, I think. So I had my work cut out for me.

Turned out, I wildly succeeded. I picked up soundtracks, PBS classics, silly stuff, heartwarming stuff, forgotten gems from my own childhood, and re-imaginings of classics from bygone childhoods even more lost to time than mine. I compiled everything onto a flash drive, which I mailed to my friends for Christmas that year.⁴ I thought that would be the end of it. I’d picked up some entertaining and quirky new albums, and done a helpful thing. But I didn’t know at the time how useful—and dangerous—this music would prove.

The Gig Manifests

I was waist-deep in Cutty Sark and soda when I got the email from a former co-worker in Salinas. As with all great emails, the subject line seized me with a call to action that would make the FCC shudder: “Wanna Make Fifty Bucks?”

See, this former cubicle-trench comrade of mine had a problem—her grandson was scheduled to “graduate” from preschool in a few days (apparently, this is called a “Preschool Culmination Ceremony”—this is the woke verbiage the liberals want you to use, you know). This wasn’t the problem in itself—in fact, she seemed pretty pleased about her grandson not being a total imbecile. No, this was more of a—shall we say—logistical problem.

Originally, the preschool selected Danny, its devoted and wisecracking custodian, to provide musical curation for the Culmination (cumulative?) proceedings. Admittedly, it was a great choice. Danny was a community hero, and the kids loved him. Danny also possessed a carefully compiled playlist of guaranteed Culmination classics, which he’d relied on every year for the past several decades. About a week before I got involved, a major problem arose:

Danny (being a community hero) was arrested and charged with reckless endangerment, because he was using his apartment’s carport to build the most incredible, souped-the-fuck-up motorized bicycles in the whole Salinas Valley. Admittedly, it took a lot longer than it probably should have—but, to make it brief, the bastards finally got ‘im. 

That’s where I came in: Danny had a court appearance that conflicted with the Culmination Ceremony. Apparently, they’d asked everyone from the big-time farm site managers to any number of underemployed King City residents to fill in for Danny—no luck.

I should have asked, “How come nobody wants to fill in?” But I didn’t—I was drunk and I wanted fifty bucks. “I’d be happy to help,” I said. This was my first mistake.

Her response included the details of the ceremony: where to be—a public park in South Salinas—and when—first thing Saturday. “Do you want me to send you Danny’s playlist? You can probably just use that,” she wrote.

“No need, I replied. “I can put something together.” This was my second mistake.

Welcome To Graduation

The Grand Entrance

At any graduation ceremony, the students’ entrance song serves as an opening salvo—an opportunity to really light the place up and generate some smiles. Hopefully, this sets up something at least moderately entertaining and tolerable. Remember—we’re going for inoffensive songs that parents as well as kids can enjoy. As far as I could guess, very few of the people in attendance at this thing would actually want to be there. So, the pressure would be on immediately.

Obviously, there’s something to be said for the classics. But listen—I hate “Pomp and Circumstance” with a passion that rivals the white-hot intensity of a scornful supernova. So I went with a different, more playful, (and, dare I say) more appropriately childish song: “Linus and Lucy” by the Vince Guaraldi trio—sometimes affectionately referred to as the Peanuts “theme song.” It’s instantly recognizable, and it captures the spirit of youthful discovery, the innocent curiosity of experiencing everything in the world for the first time, and being excited about the possibilities.

At the Salinas ceremony, I guessed correctly. Guaraldi’s bouncy-house, frenetic piano jamming is a cultural institution for this song alone, so I was glad to see the parents’ faces light up as their kids strode in, cherubic in identical miniature robes, backed by the sounds of an American classic. Things were going great. In another hour, I’d be fifty bucks richer, and have an adorable story to tell. How hard could this whole gig be?

You, however, might find yourself playing to a different crowd. So, I’ve included a few more options that I think could’ve worked equally well.

Preschool Graduation Entrance Songs

My Choice	Vince Guaraldi Trio – “Linus and Lucy” (from Jazz Impressions of A Boy Named Charlie Brown)
The Sentimental Option	Gene Wilder; Leslie Bricusse; Anthony Newley; Walter Scharf – “Pure Imagination” (from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: Original Soundtrack)
Feeling Avant-Garde?	Mahna Mahna & The Two Snowths – “Mahna Mahna” (from The Muppet Show: Music, Mayhem, And More!)
Wanna Irritate Everyone’s Parents?	The Students of Jerome Horwitz Elementary School – “1812 Ofarture” (from Captain Underpants: The Epic Movie Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Never Trust A Teacher

Things started to go south when the kids’ overworked, undersexed head teacher—whose name I’ll omit out of respect—had to give a welcome speech. Now, normally this wouldn’t be a problem. Except, Mr. [REDACTED] must have been going through a lot. I’m not sure what exactly, but it was enough that he showed up utterly and irreparably sloshed. He staggered his way to the microphone stand, the crowd fell silent, he burped once, and proceeded to vomit a brown-pink sea of gut-sludge all over the place.

Needless to say, it was awkward. The guy reeked of suburban moonshine, and so did everything that came out of him. To make matters worse, immediately upon completing his spree of spewing, Mr. [REDACTED] collapsed—right in the pile of his own vile sickness. The parents looked a lot more surprised than the kids, which I have to figure is pretty telling.

This was where I made my third mistake. Upon catching a bevy of panicked glances from various preschool staff, and my former co-worker, I thought, “This is my moment. I must run interference.” I knew I had to play something—anything. 

It would have been perfectly acceptable to skip anything else I had prepared, bypass speeches entirely, and get to the part of the ceremony where we handed each little kid a little certificate. Then we could all hit the potluck folding table, chit-chat, and split. Unfortunately, my split-second choice to play Baha Men’s version of “Hakuna Matata,” from the first Disney Mania compilation, turned out to be the wrong choice. Nobody found it funny. 

I, however, didn’t notice the crowd’s distaste. I was busy trying to hold my own stomach steady as I watched a squadron of “had-it-up-to-here” kids pick their teacher up, wipe his mouth on the sleeves of their adorable little robes, and lead him to a folding chair to ride out the spins.

Anyway, I guess there’s a nonzero possibility you’ll face a situation like mine, where someone important pukes at your preschool graduation DJ gig. In that case, I wouldn’t recommend wisecracking. I’ve included a few better options than “Hakuna Matata.”⁵

How Not To Play Off A Piss-Drunk Educator

My Choice (the “Piss off the Parents” Option)	Baha Men – “Hakuna Matata” (from Disney Mania)
There’s A Valuable Lesson Somewhere In This	Diners – “Learning Curve” (from Leisure World)
Maybe he got what he deserved?	Arthur Holden (As Mr. Ratburn) – “Homework” (from Arthur and Friends: The First Almost Real Not Live CD or Tape)
Or, a Message of Non-Judgment	Fred Rogers – “Sometimes People Are Good” (from It’s Such A Good Feeling: The Best of Mr. Rogers)

Exit Stage Right

Somehow we managed to make it through the rest of the actual ceremony more or less fine. A few kids started crying on stage when their parents tried to take pictures—some were just uncomfortable wearing their little robes. Others seemed mysteriously to be swaying from side to side. In any case, I knew I needed a big, celebratory number to get everybody’s energy back up for the upcoming potluck brunch. The table was already beautifully prepared. All we had to do was get the little bastards back to their parents, and then we could eat, and I’d get my fifty bucks. Things could not possibly get worse.

Still, considering how extremely awkward I felt, I probably made a mistake by choosing the theme song for a 2007-2008 Cartoon Network show produced and scored by André 3000 of Outkast: “Class of 3000 Theme Song.” It’s a funkdafied, orchestral explosion of jubilation and jazz, complete with vocal samples from the characters’ voice actors. André sings the lyric “Be yourself, ‘cause no one else can take your seat at Cool School.” I could’ve sworn that would’ve gone over better than it did. There wasn’t anything uniquely offensive or “wrong” about choosing it—but it just completely fell flat. Not one person recognized it. Or, I think that after the incidents involving Danny and Mr. [REDACTED], it’s possible that everyone would’ve preferred a little “Pomp and Circumstance.”

Whatever, though. That song sucks.

How to Get a Bunch of Preschoolers to Leave a Stage In An Orderly Fashion

My Choice	André 3000 – “Class of 3000 Theme Song” (from Class of 3000: Music Volume One)
The Sentimental Option	The Beatles – “All You Need Is Love” (from Magical Mystery Tour)
Feeling Avant-Garde?	Blackalicious – “Blazing Arrow” (from Blazing Arrow)
For an audience full of white Gen-Xers in California.	Jack Johnson – “Upside Down” (from Sing-A-Longs And Lullabies For The Film Curious George)

Pot Luck

One thing about doing a preschool Culmination Ceremony © is that, if you’re lucky, the kids’ parents will treat you to a brunch potluck. I’m talking, the whole farm. So much delicious home cooking it’s hard to believe that we’re all just there to watch a bunch of mostly-illiterate junior varsity pseudointellectuals play dress-up and chew on their “diplomas.” Still, if you’re even luckier—as this group of parents was—someone will bring brownies to the preschool Culmination Ceremony.

And if you’re extremely lucky—as this group of parents was—those brownies will be dosed with the finest Monterey County home grown available. They, however, did not realize this. I had a pretty good idea, because I could smell the damn things—I’d caught a hefty whiff from my folding table DJ booth. I’d know that smell anywhere—don’t ask me about my time running sting operations with County Cannabis Compliance. Thinking about those days gives me Vietnam flashbacks—cue the black-and-white footage of a helicopter flying low over the Santa Cruz Mountains, acres of unlicensed tree as far as the eye can see. “Fortunate Son” is playing.

Anyway, the potluck portion of the morning rolls around, and we realize the brownies are gone. One particular teenage older sibling starts to panic. “We gotta find ‘em,” he keeps saying. “We gotta find ‘em now.” And that’s when the preschoolers started to drop like flies. Plop. Onto the ground, one at a time. It was then I realized exactly what was happening, and just how fucking funny it was—these kids were thieves. Honorable thieves, but thieves nonetheless. And it looked like one of ‘em had pulled off a major brownie heist, then deigned graciously to share with the whole class. All the sugar in the grape juice they were drinking had mixed poorly with the relatively gargantuan amounts of cannabis they’d ingested. The damage was done—they were wasted. And those that didn’t pass out saw those who did pass out, and the kids left standing staggered, crying, to their parents, wanting to know why the fuck they were the little kid equivalent of tripping balls. 

What choice did I have? I hit the ground running with the ultimate tiny tot stoner anthem: “Slow Day” by Raffi, from his seminal album Bananaphone. Again, apparently inappropriate, judging by the wild gesticulating I noticed from the preschool staff, pantomiming “cut it out” as urgently as possible. I saw, but I didn’t care. I love that song, and at this point, I was just laughing along. I’d had a few of those brownies myself, you see—a really sweet kid handed them to me before the ceremony and requested something from Bluey. I said I’d play it. I lied.

Here’s a few examples of stoner songs for your toddler. Don’t smoke in front of ‘em.

Baby’s First Edible Experience

My choice (“piss off the parents” option)	Raffi – “Slow Day” (from Bananaphone)
If you like a cheeky pun	Fred Rogers – “Tree, Tree, Tree” (from It’s Such A Good Feeling: The Best of Mr. Rogers)
Yet another pun, plus Muppets	Kermit the Frog – “Bein’ Green” (from The Muppet Show: Music, Mayhem, & More!)
Fuck It, Go For Broke	Shel Silverstein – “I Got Stoned And I MIssed It” (from The Best of Shel Silverstein: HIs Words His Songs His Friends)

What Have We Learned?

Things ended badly, to say the least. Screaming kids, calls to 911, parents ganging up on the “We gotta find ‘em now” teen sibling to the point where he justifiably feared for his physical safety. At any time during the chaos, I probably could have reached for the microphone and tried to restore order. But I’m not much use commanding a crowd under the best of circumstances—let alone when other people’s kids are higher than kites and scared about it, and I’ve had two edibles. It got so bad that I didn’t even get my fifty bucks—my coworker hurried over to me and said, sternly, “I think you’d better leave.”

“What about my fifty bucks?” I said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she answered.

So, take my advice, wayward DJ disciples of mine: Don’t ever take a gig DJing a preschool graduation ceremony. They’ll stiff you the fifty bucks they owe you, no matter how incredible and incendiary your set was. I should’ve known better than to indulge the trifling pedants who send their little brats to a private educational institution.

1.  I still have better taste than any of your friends. I guarantee it. ↩︎
2.  Innocuously, I said. It remains innocuous, OK? ↩︎
3. Seriously! ↩︎
4. Shout out to USPS ↩︎
5.  There’s actually nothing wrong with Baha Men’s cover. It’s perfectly listenable, totally inoffensive. I’m just tactless, and context matters—y’know? I tend to forget that sometimes when there’s a joke I could make that’s really funny. In this case, you have to admit that following a sloppy-drunk preschool teacher with “No Worries for the rest of your days,” is at least really funny. ↩︎