The Least Tasteful Musical Moment I Ever Participated In

by Drew Holmes

I was sitting among the second cornets in The Southerners British style brass band and rehearsal was winding down. My lip and my brain were both equally tired and all I wanted to do was make the trek from Fort Myers back to Naples so I could get some sleep.

“Alright,” called Jerome, our music director. “Let’s do one more before we finish. ‘Music of the Night’ from Phantom of the Opera.”

The familiar shuffle of paper filled the room as we found our parts and prepared to play. I knew I had enough gas in the tank to make it through this one, but just barely.

“Concentrate and make this a good one,” Jerome said as he raised his arms and gave the downbeat.

Then something magical happened. The harmonies were tight, the rhythms flowing. It was as if everyone in the band had decided, in that moment, to leave it all out there and create something truly special.

As we approached a fermata (“…and you’ll live as you’ve never lived before”) the band played as one instrument. The rallentando was perfectly in time and the hold was perfectly in tune. The cutoff was in such unison that a faint echo greeted us in response to the silence, like a slumbering ghost awakened by the beauty of our art.

In her defense, Ruthie was a saxophone player, not a drummer. What happened next was not entirely her fault.

The downbeat after this lush fermata was written in the percussion part simply as “cymbal”. As Jerome later explained, this should be interpreted as a slight shimmer, played perhaps with a quarter in hand rubbed along the outside of the cymbal to create an effect that almost, musically speaking, resembles a sigh.

Back in the day I was a bit of a wrestling fan. Hulk Hogan, Rowdy Roddy Piper, and Andre the Giant were regular Saturday morning guests on my TV set. I knew all the basic moves like the pile driver, suplex, and body slam. Upon Jerome’s downbeat, Ruthie assaulted the cymbal with technique best described as a “double axe handle”.

The ensuing auditory ambush instantly overwhelmed our senses. In the pandemonium we did not know if the Ottoman army was advancing on our position or if we were about to be raptured.

Moment shattered, Jerome accepted defeat and ordered us to pack up and go home.

Music is magic. It can instantly transport us from where we are to wherever the composer would like us to be. The keys to this journey are the leadership of the conductor and the artistry of the performers. While the ink on the page is crucial in conveying the intent of the composer, it is up to us as musicians to use it as a living, breathing guide to bring their vision to life.

This ability to tastefully stay in the moment is important when you are trying to enthrall an audience and take them with you on a composer’s intended musical journey. This is doubly important if you are a saxophonist attempting to play percussion.