When Cities Become Mirrors: How David Schein Turns Burlington’s Contradictions Into Art
Cities are like people—they’re most fascinating when they refuse to be pinned down. Take Burlington, Vermont: a place where the New York Times celebrates it as one of America’s happiest cities, yet locals argue over whether it’s a utopia of jam bands and ice cream or a “heroin-riddled den of shady shit.” This tension isn’t just noise; it’s the raw material for artists like David Schein, whose upcoming performance Queen City Songs turns Burlington’s identity crisis into a meditation on memory, belonging, and the stories we tell ourselves.
The Paradox of Local Pride
Schein, a 77-year-old playwright, poet, and musician who’s lived everywhere from Ethiopia to California, returned to his hometown in 2010. His take? “Burlington isn’t special—it’s just a city, man.” That line alone cuts through the hype. But here’s what fascinates me: his rejection of Vermont’s “smugness” while still creating a love letter to the Queen City. Why would someone so skeptical of local exceptionalism dedicate years to mapping its streets, ghosts, and gossip? Because, I think, Schein gets that every city’s soul lies in its contradictions. The same place that feels mundane to longtime residents becomes a mythic landscape when filtered through the lens of memory. His work isn’t about celebrating Burlington’s quirks; it’s about exposing how those quirks shape identity.
Nostalgia as a Creative Engine
Queen City Songs isn’t a history lesson—it’s a “musical walking tour” blending real landmarks with personal folklore. Schein’s version of Burlington includes a haunted orphanage, a tree he once imagined as a spaceship, and the ruins of a high school he attended. This approach reminds me of Henry Miller’s observation that “the more you remember, the more you remember”—a paradox that Schein weaponizes. He’s not reconstructing the past; he’s letting it cascade, distort, and collide with the present. For instance, he admits his songs might be “intensely niche,” like his account of pushing abandoned cars into the Intervale. But here’s the twist: those hyperlocal details aren’t barriers to connection. They’re invitations. When he sings about a Jewish kid barred from school dances or a babysitter who became governor, he’s not just sharing Burlington’s secrets. He’s asking audiences to revisit their own hometowns, to dig into the forgotten corners of their personal maps.
The Universal in the Hyperlocal
At first glance, Schein’s project sounds like a deep cut for Vermont insiders. His references to Spoon River Anthology and Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again suggest otherwise. These works—like Schein’s—are rooted in specific places but resonate universally. Why? Because every town has its hidden histories, its sacred trees and haunted buildings. What makes Queen City Songs compelling is its refusal to romanticize. Schein’s Burlington isn’t a postcard; it’s a palimpsest. A house on Maple Street stands unchanged for 70 years, yet the city around it morphs. The former high school gets torn down, but Schein’s memories of it endure. This tension between stasis and change isn’t unique to Burlington. It’s the human condition. We’re all shaped by places that outlive—or betray—our memories of them.
Why This Matters Now
In an age of algorithm-driven homogenization, where TikTok trends flatten culture into copy-paste sameness, Schein’s work feels radical. He’s not just preserving Burlington’s idiosyncrasies; he’s arguing that our personal, messy relationships with place are worth celebrating. His improvisational performances with multi-instrumentalist Ronald Rost—where songs might shift nightly—mirror the unpredictability of memory itself. And his “gossip” segments, filled with unscripted stories from his youth, reject the curated perfection of modern storytelling. This isn’t nostalgia as escapism. It’s nostalgia as resistance.
Final Thought: The City as Living Archive
Here’s what I keep coming back to: Schein’s insistence that cities are “never a place, but a new way of looking at things.” Queen City Songs doesn’t just document Burlington; it challenges us to see our own environments as layered, contested, alive. The best art doesn’t give answers—it reframes questions. So, if you’re not from Burlington, does Schein’s project still matter? Absolutely. Because the next time you walk past that old diner or cracked sidewalk, you might ask: What stories are hiding in plain sight? What ghosts are waiting for their song? And, like Schein, will you have the courage to let your memories cascade—even if they’re messy, even if they’re yours alone?
