Me and brass; it's been a long road. One day I will not think of a highschool marching band player whose entire identity is wrapped up in his or her instrument. This theory has far exceeded the legal time limit for "first impressions" and has been confirmed by months and years of interacting with these kinds of people on a daily basis in public high school. The associations have solidified into a stereotype- nay, a worldview. They are the kind of people who get rubberbands put on their braces on their teeth in accordance with school spirit colors, who wear t-shirts that say "Clarinet playing is Life. The rest is just details.", and whose esoteric humor with other people consists of laughing over "that one B flat in measure 76" <
It takes a while to clear one's mind from such injurious impressions and associations of brass and all of those who play them. I have even tried listening to Canadian brass on a discman while basking in the sun on the beach.* I have begun to climb out of this pit, and in order to appreciate brass for what it truly can do, I have taken small doses of self-administered jazz therapy, listening to Benny Goodman while washing dishes. Somehow, we occasionally end up whole CD's worth of dishes in our sink. Perhaps this is some cosmic force trying to get me to listen to jazz. I tried it anyway. I washed them, Benny dried. After the success with that, I even went out and bought me with my own two cents, a copy of Gerschwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and discovered that the clarinet certainly does have a voice of its own. I'll admit, it's even sexy. Aaron Copland also had command of brass instruments: how to use open space and horn and trumpet sounds to make even sworn enemies pledge allegience to the American flag, old-timers to go see a Rodeo (or a ballet), and common citizens buy Campbell's Soup. He decided in order to hail the common man instead of the usual dignitaries in his "Fanfare for the Common Man." Its world premier was on Income Tax Day, ironically. I like that. I heard of one performance of that where the brass players required to play that song all stood in the balcony of the theatre hall with the audience. Now that's powerful, especially when seasoned with those big bass drums. There's also nothing more powerful than the use of brass instruments in the Star Wars soundtrack. I gotta hand it to them; I just can't imagine the main theme song without those shiny brass sounds. Can you imagine Darth Vader processing down his corridor to the same instruments that have just played Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze?"
So I am introduced to a crowd of people who have stopped being photographed with their clarinets in family pictures, Christmas cards, and yearbook cameos. They know how to manage their instruments, and their social lives, which are now appropriately separate things. In order to play with such acceptable skill level, I think back to when they perhaps were highschool marching band kids themselves, thumbing through their wardrobe trying to decide which "Absolut Clarinet" shirt to wear that day.
Maybe you've got to be fanatical to start with in order to be somewhere one day. It's been an upward climb out of those dark days of oppressive brass and woodwind sounds, but look where they are now. And likewise, how far I've come. Thank goodness we don't stay highschoolers all our lives. I raise a toast to the growing appreciation for brass in my heart.
Because, I've found that listening to brass, like kissing an ugly person, is always better with a little wine and some dim candles.*
*no, i didn't, but it sounds like it might help.
While I understand your aversion to brass-type people, and I appreciate the creativity of that last analogy... I must object. Not merely because I am a former brass player myself, but for the following reasons:
Mahler, Gabrielli, Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Charlie Parker...
Posted by: KornSt@r at March 31, 2005 10:47 AMyeah, I should've put a disclaimer at the top I guess. Hear hear, that this is an essay about brass appreciation.
Posted by: hackenstar at March 31, 2005 12:01 PMUmm, Hackenstar. I have to tell you something. Well, two somethings, actually.
I really liked this little piece and it totally took me back... to marching band. Band was so COOL. And the idea of making ONE great sound with thirty other people was so captivating to our individualistic little worlds full of adolescent drama. (How do you spell adolescent?? Just because the most poular flute players got orthodontic accessories that matched our school colors (red and white in middle school, burgundy and white in high school) didn't mean that the rest of us were absolute dorks. In fact -- and this is the first thing to be mentioned that might be hard to hear -- the people we most pitied were the string players. It started in 4th grade, when lots of us were introduced to violins and everybody got the chance to practice in small groups doing scales in the hallways.
The violins were screechy and gave me headaches, but there were some who kept at it. A dedicated band of four kept meeting the instuctor for hallway lessons long after the rest of us had decided to spend that free thirty minutes on Thursdays and Tuesdays studying for our spelling tests. It wasn't so bad int he winter, but then came the hot spring and early summer, when all the doors and windows opened wide and in came the thin warblings of what seemed to be a thousand poorly-handled horsehair bows.
Ouch.
I've come a long way since then, you'll be glad to know, but it was tough work. It started when we moved to Texas. In Texas, there was no jazz band and our church incorporated strings in the worship service: my first crisis of faith. You'll be glad to know that now my favorite way to sing is to pick out a baritone harmony and pretend my voice is a cello, grounding someone else's melody in smooth, buttery undertones. Ahhhh.
The second thing I have to tell you: brass and woodwind aren't always interchangeable terms. In middle school the BRASS sections were always pushing ahead or slogging us down, too eager to be heard to think about tempo. Us WOODWINDS always had the loveliest (and most complicated) runs of little notes, but we struggled with being heard. There wasn't a lot of love lost between us.
Percussion was another story.
Just so you know. How are you, btw? I haven't talked to you in forever. Hope all is well in Chattanooga. You're now in charge of St. Elmo. Guard it well.
Posted by: bob at April 1, 2005 12:05 AMWelcome back to Covblogs, Rip van Winkle. It's been a hundred years since we saw you round these he-yar parts. (Maybe that comment should go below your previous post).
I was always a little worried by your brassophobia, but hestitated to suggest counseling, fearing a rift in our relationship might result. However, it seems that wine, candles, and possible even illegal substances have opened your mind to new horizons that transcend your narrow little world of string-centrity. Considering that the Judgement will be ushered in with a trumpet call, one might call brass music "heavenly." I realize that too much dedication to one's instrument might threaten another player fearful of sound homogenization, but maintaining the delicate balance between individualization and global unity must be attempted, even if failure is achieved.
Posted by: funkefreak at April 1, 2005 10:14 AMYes, I stand corrected that woodwinds are not to be equated with brass. I think this assumption has offended Larissa, my flute playing friend as well. Perhaps I came across as overly harsh on the whole, though my intention was to rhapsodize on how I am coming around to seeing that there IS value in brass instruments. (and woodwinds). As a trumpet call would usher us into heaven, or Christ down to earth again, I would ask him why the instrument of that choice. Why? As Garrison Keillor delicately understood, loosely paraphrased, "Most people are killed at concerts by the trumpets." They are a powerful instrument. However, I think my vendetta against brass and woodwinds, is that I rarely hear them played WELL. Whatever context I am used to hearing them in is usually a weak powered player who struggles to make the instrument speak at all-- which causes me anxiety. I did enjoy the professional brass quintet that came up to Covenant to play the other month. Beautiful sounds were made-- though they were the goofiest looking collection of people I have Ever seen.
That is not to say at all the the cello is the best instrument there is. In fact, I might even say I delight to hear the oboe just as well, which is a woodwind! There are indeed other instruments I would delight to hear or to play far longer than the cello- I could hear the guitar played all day as well as most piano. mmmm. That is just to illustrate that there is not an egocentricism involved with any of this brass/woodwind opinion.
In fact, it is possible for strings to be played nearly just as poorly as the poorest sounding brass and woodwinds. I think Aaron Copland said once about hearing 1,000 middle school students trying to find an "A" in a large auditorium: "I believe not even Jericho's walls have heard such a noise."