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.
BUCKSNORT, MEET RIDER. or I LEFT MY LASSO IN MY OTHER PAIR OF WRANGLERS
or
Rachel's trip to the Rodeo.
So I took a trip to the rodeo last week with my roommate and her fiance, and his little brother. Colin, I said, I know this looks like a double date, but I just have to let you know, it's not, ok?. "I'm 16!!! What are you even talking about!?" High fives from Ruth and Ian.
This, I'll have you know, is not my usual venue of Friday night entertainment. Usually, I'm off to some grand symphony or delighting my ears with another concert or so. At these events I am surrounded by citizens who find the symphony almost as sublime as church, and are scratching things into their programs as if they were sermon notes. I was immediately intrigued-- what kind of people go to a rodeo for fun? An indoor rodeo, at that? I made my way past the picketers with their "Buck the Rodeo" signs, and gave a thought over my shoulder to them: 'yeah, you guys probably all stopped at McDonald's beforehand for a meaty quarter-pounder for dinner...' Not being able to see past the sea of white cowboy hats, I looked down and started counting cowboy boots. I suddenly felt a little too much "Yankee" and not enough "Dixie".
So we go in, it's a baseball stadium type setup, and I feel like I'm looking down on a live Fisher Price barnyard set-- with real live cattle smells and everything! All I can think is about how glad I am I'm not the one going to be cleaning up all that freshly spread dirt in the stadium in time for next week's Stephen Curtis Chapman concert. Although, he could ride around some live horses at his concert... and relive the Great Adventure music video... not that I've seen it....what!.. no...wait-- yes I'm awesome!!
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, welcome to the Longhorn Rodeo... I'll be your announcer from U.S. 101, and I'll be out there riding stick horses at intermission... Here's some history about the rodeo... and you should teach your children how to ride horses so that they may one day be involved with rodeo.. Rodeo will keep your kids off the streets..."
and in the hospital...
"And today our biggest bull weighs in above 2100lbs and is reknowned for his challenging fiestyness. ..heh heh... that's the bull I want my mother-in-law on...heh heh"
{[Dad, I want a mustang--
--not until you get your lassoing perfect, son. Go practice on your little brother for me. Go!
But--
Go!]}
"So, Ian, who's your money on?"
in his best southern accent: "I'm routin' for that horse down thar-- that one-- the brown one with the foot long horns. I think he'll do ok."
"This ain't no bettin' game.." adds Ruth politely, in her best Southern Belle manner. * (slightly fictionalized).
The horses come out one by one, and I feel as if I am watching carousel horses walking around. The white show horses are so smooth and pure and muscular that they remind me of Michaelangelo's statue of David. Or any clay statue really. They are beautiful. Things commence, and I must say that some of these men are just very graceful at riding these storms of a horse. There was music playing in the background to make things more exciting-- bluegrassy type stuff. I wondered only for a split second why they didn't play Aaron Copland's "Rodeo".. and promptly remembered that it is also the theme song for the Council for USDA Beef. "Beef: it's what's for dinner." Not exactly appropriate for a rodeo, I reckon.
I was enjoying the show, when out saunters this fat clown. "Lookit that really short horse, Ruth!" "--Heh, that's a donkey." There's the clown, wearing Tennesee Vol's orange and talking wierd and throwing brooms into trashcans. What is it about Americans that can't be sincere for too long without having to Jar-Jar-Binks-ify everything? I mean, seriously.
Announcer: "Longhorn rodeo is the single most dangerous sport in all of America, and you're about to see why..."
So, what kind of people go to the rodeo, you ask? We had the couples in front of us- the man staring in oblivion not at the rodeo and not at his young wife who was carrying his two chili dogs, and cokes and ice cream. There are the little boys in back of us with their fake lassos that you KNOW they're going to take home and practice on their little brothers. The man two rows down who could kill a cockroach in a corner with the point of his cowboy boot. The girl beside us with the boyfriend. Now, this was my favorite couple to watch. She looked Totally ticked off about having been dragged to the rodeo. She sulked and sat there for a good half of the show without saying a word -- and got on the cell phone the minute her significant malefriend got up to go buy a Coke. "Hey-- yeah, I'm at the friggin rodeo. It smells like @$$ in here..."
Ian pipes up quietly, "That's funny. Cause it smells like "whiner" in here to me..."
The events are drawing to a close-- the riders have ridden the bucking horses, the 9 year old girls have showed up the old experienced riders on the barrell racing, the calfs have been roped [and let go], the bulls have bucked their riders. One last bull left. One rider left.
Rider, meet Bucksnort.
He gets on the bull in the little pen before they pull the cinch. The bull is nearly climbing out of the pen and nearly goring the rodeo clowns. They let him out. The rider rides this storm out for a full 7.5 seconds before being Out--(to borrow Joel's phrase) like a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. The clowns divert the attention of the bull and usher him into the corral. The rider is still prostrate and does not get up.
The announcer comes on. "Ok folks, he's been stepped on. That bull's hoof came down right on the inside of his left thigh. So... can we get a medic over here? Goodnight, everybody, we hope you enjoyed the Longhorn Rodeo! Come back and see us again!"
and that was the last note hanging in the evening.