On Nov. 6, 1976, "The New Keenan Revue" was presented to the Notre Dame student body in historic Washington Hall. One week later, it was performed for a second time due to popular demand from those unable to attend the first show. I write to you now in the midst of the 49th annual iteration of the show, where we get to sustain one of the most iconic traditions in a university that is characterized by its traditions. The show’s external appearance has changed over the years — captured best by The Observer stories that allude to financial frustrations and alumni leveraging their Revue talents into careers — and yet, the spirit and identity of the Keenan Revue has endured with certain determination.
Just like 49 years ago, Keenan Revue tickets are free. Just like 49 years ago, the show is built from scratch in the Keenan basement by residents. Just like 49 years ago, we make fun of dorms across campus (though less focus is placed on Flanner Hall these days). The show that exists today is a show that honors the generations of Knights that came before and sculpted the tradition that we are privileged to embrace today. It’s a show that highlights all the intricacies and quirkiness housed in our cinderblock building. With that dimension of the show particularly in mind, it is difficult to describe Keenan Hall without mention of the Keenan Revue; the two are eternally entwined. But why? What makes the Revue so special? It’s been around for years, sure, but so have many other dorm traditions … why does the Revue endure?
This is a question that has occupied my mind for much of this past year as I’ve served as the show’s director. It led to many rabbit holes that I continue to explore today, culminating in crafting a 50-plus page historical timeline that chronicled the Revue’s history documented in dozens of issues of The Observer as well as countless YouTube videos of archived shows. No one knows every detail of the Keenan Revue’s history, but I feel fairly confident in calling myself a pseudo-expert on the subject at this point. And I think I’m finally ready to answer the question of its significance once and for all.
For me, the best way to exemplify the significance of the Keenan Revue is with testimony, if you’ll indulge me.
My freshman year, I exited the fall semester with a mild liking for Keenan Hall. It was a silly place with silly people, where I had a few good memories. I hadn’t given up hope on Notre Dame’s residential life by any means, but I hadn’t found my groove either. I was content — until Keenan Revue season began. I attended the skit tryouts in the basement and witnessed some of the funniest bits of writing in my life. My involvement with the band was minimal — limited almost exclusively to some minor piano parts — but I was enjoying the rehearsals. As the show neared, I was getting pretty excited.
And then I got a phone call. Logan Schott, the then music director and four-north Keenan RA, was on the other line with a tone of suppressed panic. He asked me if I had time to chat about the Revue that night — it was already 11:30 p.m. I was downstairs in the next 10 minutes, and it was in that meeting that he offered me an opportunity. There were adjustments being made to one of the songs — our opening song, "Feeling Good" by Michael Bublé — and they needed a lead singer. He knew I had past singing experience, and he was desperate. I did a very shabby impromptu audition and Logan told me excitedly that we were gonna try out the song onstage during the first day of Tech Week, the next Monday … three nights before opening night of the show.
That weekend passed quickly, filled with frantic practice sessions in the O’Neill Hall of Music, utilizing every live YouTube recording of the song I could possibly find. When Monday rolled around, I had no idea what to expect. Eventually, we got onstage to run the song and a number of technical difficulties immediately threw off the performance. I was unconfident, and it was reflected in my barely audible singing voice. We debriefed offstage and the music directors told the band quite bluntly that we had one more chance. They could get us back onstage one more time that night, and if it didn’t work out the act was to be axed from the show altogether.
This was perplexing, as one might assume. I saw the faces of the band fill with disappointment, and, somewhere in that moment, I reflected briefly. When Logan had called me down to the basement just days prior, he shared a bit of “Revue wisdom” with me. He told me that the show was not about the highest quality product, nor the most perfect version of a performance. It was about fun, and it was about love. I entered stage for this last-ditch effort at the song with his words echoing in my head, and I let loose. I stopped thinking about how I might sound or how it could impact my life in the future. Words just came out of my mouth. And, as if they were following the cinematic instructions of some creative director, the Knights of Keenan Hall gathered in front of the stage one by one. They cheered when I hit a good note, and they jumped around hugging each other when the band hit its key change perfectly. By the end of the performance, everyone left in the building for the night was standing in front of the stage, cheering me and the band on.
We went on with tech week, and I carried this newfound mentality through it all. When the show was performed, the song was well received and I experienced a lovely week of Yik Yak stardom, capped off by a round of applause greeting me to Moreau the following Wednesday night. Miraculously, I had found a home in the Keenan Revue. From that day forward, my perspective was shifted — I saw Keenan Hall in its truest form. I had experienced the radical brotherhood of the building firsthand, seen how the guys would drop anything they had to support a freshman they didn’t even know. In relinquishing my preconceptions of what the performance should or had to look like, I found a space that celebrated the authenticity of its every individual. And I never lost my sense of that again.
Since my freshman year performance, I have endeavored to carry this mentality onward for my dorm’s future generations. After two years of serving as the show’s music director, I took the step up to direct the show this upcoming year. And as I entered my tenure as director this past fall, I ruminated on the origins of my own Keenan Revue journey. I asked myself the question: What makes the Keenan Revue significant? While many disjointed memories and quotes came to my mind, one overarching word echoed clearly: love. I thought about it through a couple more contexts and suddenly realized just how appropriate of a word it was. The Keenan Revue is love. It’s a labor of love, the culmination of countless hours of voluntary work by residents. It’s a love letter to the university we chide, making light of the things that make us us. It’s an invitation to the men of Keenan Hall to love all of our eccentricities and talents. The Keenan Revue can be described in many ways, but at the end of the day — it’s love.
Now, as I celebrate every fleeting second of my final shows, I’m more aware of this fact than ever. Keenan is not exclusively defined by the Revue. I have cherished many joys across all aspects of hall life … but I attribute all the most positive memories to the perspective I gained from the Keenan Revue. One of authenticity and passion. One of love.
As director, I get the privilege of receiving many alumni emails about the Revue, whether concerning donations or tickets. And across them all, I feel the love. The love behind the show is a transgenerational feat, one which has persisted since our very first performance in Washington Hall on Nov. 6 of 1976. Whether you’re attending the Revue this weekend or not, I write this article as a testament to the power of radical friendship, the impact that embracing love in the ordinary can have — for me, it shaped my entire college career. All because of the Revue.
Thank you for your continued support of our silly little show. We hope you enjoy this year’s show! And as they say across generations of Keenan Hall, Long Live The Revue.
Joey Kositzke
senior
Feb. 24
