As I was watching the recent remake of the “Gong Show,” I couldn’t help but think of Scottish Rite degree productions. Over the years, I have repeatedly come across gongs for Masonic stages. Gongs on stage, gongs off stage, gongs in the balcony, a gong switch on a lighting board, and a gong button on an organ console. They all made me chuckle. I now wish that I had a picture of every single sighting. It wasn’t until this spring when I was at the Moline Scottish Rite that I finally decided to take a picture of a beautiful gong in the auditorium balcony. It was positioned near the organ.
What has tickled my funny bone every time is thinking about the fraternal version of the Gong Show. A gong signaled failure or a poor performance. For me, a gong doesn’t conjure up the exotic or a magical moment. Sadly, I am an unfortunate product of the television age. Thousands of years significance in a gong destroyed by one TV show. This is similar to my Pavlovian response to certain classical songs and operas where Bugs Bunny or another Looney Tunes character pops into my mind. The “Bunny of Seville” is one example.
In fraternal theaters, I always envision the sound of a gong and then an imaginary hook reaching from the wings toward another amateur actor who utterly failed in his performance. The neon sign at the Santa Fe Scottish Rite that signals “Louder Slower” to the degree performers supports this scenario.
Gongs have been around since 2000 BC, though many historians think that they have been around for far longer. Mystical traditions grew up around the glorious bass notes of gongs in the eastern world. The gong was slow to gain popularity in Europe and its first recorded use in western orchestral music was by Gossec in his funeral March for Mirabeau in 1791. Its use increased on the stage during the early nineteenth century. Many sought out the exotic instrument and gongs appeared in a variety of stage productions and in the music rooms of private residences. As with visual spectacle, that rolling sound transported generations of Masons to the foreign lands of degree productions.
But it wasn’t until I recently read the “Naiad Queen” script that I started to think about the significance of this particular sound, especially how it’s meaning has altered for some individuals in recent decades like myself. During the nineteenth century, a gong signaled the transformation scene. It announced a magical, or significant, moment on the stage, not just an exotic character. After the gong strikes twelve in “The Black Crook,” Hertzog is thrown into a flaming pit surrounded by howling and dancing demons.
It was the idea of a gong signaling a transition, or a transformation on stage, however, that really stuck in my mind. In “Trial by Jury,” Gilbert specified a gong to be struck, signaling the work’s concluding of a transformation scene parody. Carolyn Williams in “Gilbert Sullivan: Gender, Genre, and Parody” suggests that the allusion was a familiar one to audiences in 1875. This was the same time that degree productions started to gain popularity throughout the Northern Masonic Jurisdiction.
I thought back to the script for the three-act opera version of “The Naiad Queen; or the Revolt of the Naiads, a Romantic Operatic Spectacle in Three Acts” written by J. S. Dalrymple, Esq. Here is the link: babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.$b249955;view=1up;seq=34 The script notes the use of a gong to signal a transformation scene. The production was first performed at the Adelphi Theatre in London, with the American premiere at Burton’s Theatre (Philadelphia) during 1840. I was fascinated with the stage description.
The gong is sounded during the fifth scene of the third act. The setting opens to “A Romantic View of the Rhine” with two processionals entering the stage to form a tableau. The first processional was the Demon March. Amphibeo and demons of the Rhine march onstage, complete with conch shells and banners. The music then changes for the entrance of another processional. The Naiad Queen and Amazon warriors appear in full armor to complete the picture. Here is the stage direction after the tableau is set: “Music. Gong. The scene changes magically to fountains of real water; Naiads and Water Spirits mingle above and around, and the ethereal blue, emitted through a strong light, is thrown upon the picture.” Once again, I wished that I could travel through time to witness this spectacle in person. These extravaganzas of visual delight transported audiences to exotic and magical worlds. For many, a theatrical metamorphosis on stage seemed to defy reality.
Degree productions also incorporated the gong into their staging, once again emulating an effect popularized on the commercial stage. It was just one more example of how Masonic theatres remain living time capsules. Scottish Rite Freemasons are more than just caretakers of painted scenery collections, old costumes, ancient lighting systems and worn stage properties. They are stewards of theatre history and long-forgotten stage effects, all part of a shared cultural heritage.
Tableaux and transformation scenes appear in many Scottish Rite degree productions, but one always stands out in my mind. That is the transformation scene for the 17th degree. The stage setting includes a volcanic eruption, flowing rivers of lava, and classical buildings that collapse on stage. In this scene there is the breaking of the seven seals with gong sounding each one.
To be continued…
