“This Isn’t Jazz. It’s Erasure.” How Chuck Redd Canceled a Kennedy Center Tradition—and Issued Trump a Blunt Ultimatum

For nearly twenty years, Christmas Eve at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts followed a rhythm as reliable as any holiday ritual in Washington. While politicians fled town and the city exhaled, brushes whispered across a snare drum, a vibraphone shimmered under the lights, and jazz musicians—many of them legends—gathered not for spectacle but for communion. Since 2006, that sound had been guided by Chuck Redd, a drummer and vibraphonist who treated the annual Christmas Eve Jazz Jam less like a concert and more like a trust handed down.

This year, for the first time in its modern history, the music will not play.

Redd abruptly canceled the 2025 Christmas Eve Jazz Jam after learning that the Kennedy Center’s board of trustees had voted to rename the institution the “Trump Kennedy Center.” The decision, made quietly and revealed only days later, landed like a rupture in Washington’s cultural bloodstream. “I did choose to cancel our Kennedy Center Christmas Eve Jazz Jam when I saw the name change happening last Friday,” Redd said in a statement to CNN. “That name matters. It always has.”

The cancellation immediately became one of the most visible acts of resistance to the renaming, which has already drawn condemnation from members of the Kennedy family, Democratic lawmakers, arts patrons, and constitutional scholars questioning whether a congressionally chartered institution can be politically rebranded at all. Yet for Redd, the issue was not legal theory or partisan outrage. It was personal, professional, and deeply moral.

Those close to him say Redd viewed the renaming not as an honorific addition but as a form of overwrite—an attempt to graft a living political figure onto a memorial space dedicated to a slain president whose legacy is inseparable from public service and cultural investment. The Kennedy Center, in Redd’s view, was never meant to be neutral ground for power displays. It was meant to be sacred ground for art.

President Donald Trump, by contrast, reportedly saw the board’s decision as vindication. According to allies, Trump privately celebrated the move as proof that even elite cultural institutions were finally “acknowledging reality.” He framed criticism as snobbery and accused artists of hypocrisy, arguing that many had benefited from federal arts funding while publicly opposing him. “They take the money and scream,” Trump told one associate, according to a person familiar with the exchange. “Now they’re mad about a name.”

The reaction from Trump-aligned media was swift and punishing. Commentators accused Redd of “canceling Christmas,” politicizing jazz, and punishing audiences over personal ideology. Some went further, suggesting the Kennedy Center should permanently sever ties with him and replace the Jazz Jam entirely. Jazz musicians across Washington, however, responded very differently. Within hours, prominent players were privately texting Redd messages of solidarity. One described the renaming as “a branding exercise where history used to live.” Another called the cancellation “the most jazz response imaginable.”

What was not immediately public—but quickly became known inside political and arts circles—was that Redd did not simply walk away. He confronted the moment head-on.

According to multiple sources briefed on the matter, Redd sent a sharply worded ultimatum through intermediaries with direct access to Trump. The message was not theatrical. It was precise, deliberate, and uncompromising. Redd laid out three conditions under which the Christmas Eve Jazz Jam could ever return to the Kennedy Center.

First, the venue’s official name must revert fully and publicly to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, including signage, printed programs, livestream graphics, and archival records associated with the concert.

Second, the Kennedy Center must issue a written guarantee—approved by its board—that no artistic programming, present or future, would be subjected to political loyalty tests, ideological branding, or retaliatory pressure from elected officials.

Third, and most provocatively, Trump himself would need to publicly acknowledge that the Jazz Jam was canceled because of the renaming decision, not because of “wokeness,” “elitism,” or political bias on the part of the musicians.

“If these conditions are not met,” Redd wrote, according to one source familiar with the message, “the Jazz Jam will find another home, and it will never return to this building under my leadership. I will not lend my name, my musicians, or my history to a stage that treats art as a prop.”

The message landed at the White House like a challenge.

Trump’s reaction was immediate and furious. In private conversations, he dismissed Redd as “replaceable” and questioned why “anyone should care about one drummer.” Yet he also reportedly fixated on the optics of losing a beloved holiday tradition so visibly tied to the Kennedy Center’s identity. One ally described Trump as “torn between punishing defiance and not wanting to look like the guy who killed Christmas jazz.”

Publicly, Trump struck a harsher tone. He accused unnamed performers of “holding culture hostage” and suggested that institutions receiving federal support should “remember who signs the checks.” The remark alarmed arts advocates, who saw it as a thinly veiled threat. Several former Kennedy Center donors privately told reporters they were freezing contributions until the naming dispute was resolved.

Behind the scenes, intermediaries attempted to soften Redd’s stance, proposing compromises: shared branding, alternating names, temporary signage. Redd rejected them all. To associates, he framed the issue starkly. “If you can rename this place for political power,” he said in one conversation, “you can rename anything. And once you accept that, nothing means anything.”

As the days passed, the absence of the Jazz Jam began to feel louder than any performance. The Kennedy Center quietly removed promotional material. Musicians who had planned to fly in canceled travel. Fans flooded social media with memories of past concerts, posting grainy clips and thanking Redd for “protecting the soul of the place.”

Trump, according to advisers, ultimately decided not to engage directly with Redd’s demands. He instead doubled down on the legitimacy of the renaming and encouraged the Kennedy Center to “move forward.” The silence functioned as an answer.

Redd, for his part, has not wavered. He has declined interviews beyond his initial statement, telling friends that the music will return somewhere else, somewhere that does not ask artists to legitimize political ego. Several Washington venues have reportedly reached out, offering to host the Jazz Jam independently.

What remains unresolved is not merely where the concert will be held, but what the Kennedy Center itself represents now. A building once synonymous with bipartisan reverence for the arts has become a battleground over memory, ownership, and power. In canceling a concert rather than compromising its meaning, Chuck Redd forced that question into the open.

On Christmas Eve, there will be silence where jazz once lived. And for many in Washington, that silence will speak louder than any encore