About those fireworks...
Twelve-month warning
One year from now, we dearly hope, America will be celebrating the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. There may be fewer fireworks next year than this weekend.
Almost all fireworks that paint our skies each Independence Day come from—you guessed it—China. Pyro-wholesalers are deeply worried looming tariffs will cause a curtailment in the quantity of fireworks professional display companies will order up for next year’s grand celebrations. They’re lobbying for a tariff exemption.
Do we want to bring fireworks manufacturing to America? Not in my backyard.
Behind the scenes
I really do love fireworks—so much so that decades ago, back when the concept of programming music to accompany public fireworks displays was fairly new, I put myself in charge of making it happen for our community.
In previous years the local fireworks displays were routinely predictable: One aerial bomb at a time…oohs and ahhs…the sky would re-darken, then another illumination a few seconds later…more vocal expressions of admiration. This would be repeated with a subtle increase in the size of the single shells, punctuated with some ground displays, until an overhead explosion of multiple shells in a glorious climax signaled the show was over.
I worked at a radio station that dominated local airwaves. We convinced a local corporation to pony up $10,000, which would roughly double the municipal fireworks budget and started work with the contract-pyrotechnic professionals on a music program that would be part of the sky show.
On the air we called it a “skyconcert.” Almost immediately the fireworks professionals advised us to stopping using the word “synchronized” when describing what would happen. Maybe “coordinated” or “timed” would better promise what would happen and keep expectations in line. In other words, maybe the fireworks wouldn’t really be all that aligned, correlated or matched to the music.
We nevertheless encouraged people to bring their radios to the park so they could hear the music as they watched the fireworks. Because I had a plan.
We would begin the “skyconcert” with the well-known opening theme from a popular film, “2001: A Space Odyssey,” (technically the Richard Strauss composition “Also sprach Zarathustra.“)
You know it. Tah…dah…dahhh. TAH DAH! (then six tympani drum beats). Repeat.
I told the fireworks folks “Just have single, huge shell appear in-sync with each of those two opening ‘TAH DAHS’ and everyone will be instantly persuaded the rest of the show is in-sync—no matter what.”
It worked. The opening was unexpected, effective and convincing. Then for the next 25 minutes, fireworks flew into the air rather randomly as everyone listened to Kate Smith sing “God Bless America” and spirited versions of “Stars and Stripes Forever” and “This Land is Your Land” rang out across the park from a thousand portable radios and another thousand cars with their windows down and radios up.
The skyconcert ended with a thunderous, impressive finale. The crowd cheered, horns honked, the radio station’s switchboard lit up with on-air callers expressing their appreciation.
The opening had been persuasive. The doubled budget had been helpful.
I managed the program for several years, always sweating the weather and “synchronization,” stewing if a few fireworks lit the sky after the music ended.
Even after I left the radio station I was one of the show’s biggest fans—and critics.
One year it was a disaster.
The fireworks were delayed but eventually had to begin without the music because the guy at the radio station controls apparently couldn’t find the digitized music program. He scrambled and played other random, patriotic music, including an awkwardly-placed national anthem, and then an announcement that the fireworks show was over.
Except it wasn’t. The fireworks continued for several minutes while the radio station broadcast a Cardinals baseball game.
The next morning the guy at the controls admitted “it was a mess,” gave a brief on-air apology and then belittled the whole idea (“It’s a ruse,“ he said), indicating fireworks really can’t be synched with the music anyway.
Well, it kind of could, if you played the right music.
Today’s technology makes synchronization amazingly possible. I love it, still.
And a Sky Ladder
The pyrotechnic king is Cai Guo-Qiang, a Chinese artist who used artificial intelligence to produce a spectacular show over the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., three months ago.
There’s a great documentary about him on Netflix: “Sky Ladder: The Art of Cai-Guo-Qiang.” Watch just the first couple minutes to see interesting video about the manufacture of brilliances in China’s fireworks capital. Then, perhaps 20 minutes into the 75-minute doc, you’ll see what I expect you’ll rank among the most unusual and beautiful fireworks ever—a painting of the sky. A bit later you’ll see displays designed by Cai for the Beijing Olympics and, under significant political pressure, for an Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation meeting in Shanghai.
The main thrust of the documentary, however, is Chai’s quest to produce a “Sky Ladder”—an “installation” that reaches about a third of a mile into the sky. Seeing is believing.
It’ll be a tall mark against which to measure your own local fireworks this weekend. But big or small, they’ll all be glorious.
A happy Fourth of July to you. Happy birthday to our nation. And thanks for reading!