Open Writing

On stage, five chairs were arranged in a wide semi-circle, just beyond an open orchestra pit. On one chair lay a battered French horn; next to it, in the centre, a shiny tuba stood upended on its bell; next to that, was a stand holding a white and black enamelled trombone with its brass brother lying on the floor beside it. The outer chairs were unoccupied.

Five men, dressed in black, appeared on stage, two carrying trumpets; they bowed in unison, picked up their instruments and sat down. From the opening bars of Leroy Anderson’s ‘Buglers Holiday’, the audience was captivated. As we applauded that first, brightly shining piece, Leon whispered to me, “What is it about brass music that makes people laugh and smile?” The tuba player had a short solo in the Buglers Holiday, and everyone – in the audience and on stage – giggled at the deep oompahs which rang out. The tuba player was a large man; his tuba, too, was large, but he held it as if it were made of delicate crystal and swayed his right arm musically with every beat as he played his deep, rumbling tune. His bald head shone in the spotlight and we wondered just how low he could go.

The trombone player suffered from a type of short-arm syndrome. It wasn’t that he was unable to see at close range, but that he had to stretch his arm slightly further than its natural length when gliding his trombone slide to its lower notes. During a difficult rhythmic passage, he, the youngest of the five, made a glaring mistake, threw up his hands – one of which still clutched his gleaming instrument – and rocked backwards on the chair. He groaned, returned the chair to ground-level, then continued playing as if nothing unusual had happened.

The French horn player led the group. Whether he played the first note or not, he gave the count and the nod to lead everyone into each piece. Between works, he joked with the audience: “This is the second time we’re playing here. We opened this hall two years ago. Now we’re doing the same programme. Hopefully it will be right this time!”

As the trumpeter flapped among his papers, he commented, “It’s my job to make jokes while the first trumpet – oh, sorry, you’re playing second in this piece? – hunts for his music.”

The trumpeters took turns to lose the appropriate music, often getting up and walking past each other, teetering on the edge of that gaping orchestra pit, raising many chuckles. Frequently they were the showmen of the group, playing bright and brassy solos with flair and flourishes.

On a serious ‘note’, there is a similarity between a brass quintet and a string group. Each consists of instruments with similar tone-colours and can sound like a single instrument when the ensemble-playing is good. These men enjoyed playing together and worked as a perfect team, though from the mistakes they made it was obvious they could have done with a little more rehearsal time.

Brass players’ lips can be very sensitive – their notes are created by delicate and precise lip and cheek movement, as well as instrument pressure against the lips. This explained the jokes, and the long breaks between pieces, while lips were refreshed by horse-like flubbering – placing the lips together then blowing through them with a sort of rude, ‘prrrrrrrpppppp’ sound. Playing in any small group demands far more concentration and physical effort of each individual than would normally be required in an orchestral setting. For brass players, chamber music is particularly demanding. Their orchestral colleagues, who never play chamber music, would complain bitterly about sore lips after the first piece. Our five heroes played – with breaks – for about forty minutes.

Among other works, they performed Sousa’s ‘Liberty Bell’ march, which had every toe in the auditorium tapping. When he introduced the ‘Gloria from the Nelson Mass’ by Haydn, the horn-player reminded us they’d played it so badly two years ago that it was “Nelson’s mess rather than Mass,” but hoped it would be better this time. It was glorious.

In between pieces, while the horn player talked, they all removed little u-shaped sections from their instruments, emptying the condensation that is always trapped there. The position of the brass section of any orchestra can easily be identified by puddles and water-marks on the floor.

Next on the programme was ‘Basin Street Blues’. The trombone player put down his shining brass instrument and picked up the enamelled black and white one. He unleashed lovely, raunchy sounds to everyone’s delight. When ‘the Saints Came Marching In’, the horn jazzed it up with the rest of them, the tuba oompah-ed to serious effect, the trombone slid sinuously in and out and the trumpets rose in golden triumph above them all.

After long and loud applause, just when we though it was all over, along came ‘Ol’ Man River, rollin’ along’ deep and wide. It was a perfect five-minute tuba solo, melancholy, mellow and in no way comical.

It was a concert of brassy, uplifting music that left everyone smiling. These ‘naughty boys’ of the orchestra laughed their way into everyone’s hearts.

Isn’t that what entertainment’s all about?

Post Scriptum: The following week we were told that, once the audience had left, the tuba player fell into that deep, open orchestra pit – clutching his instrument to his bosom. He and the tuba survived without injury.

Until next time, “here comes Treble!”

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