I have long wondered which kid ends up playing the flugelhorn. I know kids who want to play the piano or the violin or, help us, the drums, but not once have I met an aspiring flugelhornist. Yet there they are at halftime, right behind the trumpets.
The musically gifted David Sloat enlightened me: “When they start band in fifth or sixth grade, the teacher takes the kid who’s good on the trumpet and hands him a flugelhorn. It’s a lot like the trumpet, but it’s harder to play.”
I did not know that band teachers helped students select instruments, but I was well into middle age before it occurred to me that not all instruments require one to read six lines of music like the piano. Only one note at a time? I might have had a chance!
The hard part is finding a beginning band teacher when you’re 55. Luckily for me, I met Logan Rosenbalm, a former band teacher who recently opened a music academy in Edmond. He conspired with Jordan Bruce, whose music store has all the instruments, to create a first-day-of-band-class experience just for me.
We started with a trumpet because, man, who doesn’t love Satchmo? Also, three valves has to be easier than 88 keys, right? Once I got the hang of doing the little motorboat thing into the mouthpiece I was able to get a tone out of the horn. And a few minutes later I got a tone that sounded more like a musical instrument than a distressed animal. I found I could change registers, I just couldn’t control when I changed registers, which resulted in occasional, unanticipated trumpet yodeling. Then I noticed I was out of breath. Lesson: If you want to play the trumpet, stick with the treadmill.
On to the saxophone. After much reed wetting and some lip contortions I found the spot.
“That’s it!” Logan said. “Have you really never done this before?”
That’s how you sell someone on an instrument. If I didn’t know better I’d think his band was a little light in the sax section. But with a couple of minutes of work I was playing – well, that might be generous – Mary Had a Little Lamb. It was easier to recognize when Logan played it, but still.
Back to horns. A trombone. I’ve never quite understood how trombone players know where the notes are. On a piano, you just read the music and do what it says and it makes the right sound. But trombones just have that slide. And it’s not even marked.
I got a sound out of it. Several times. I even got it to make that down-and-up trombone slide sound. But by the time I was done my lips felt as though I’d just been punched in the mouth. Glenn Miller has nothing to worry about.
And back to woodwinds. The clarinet was surprisingly easy. Well, not easy, but the sound it made was pleasant enough and it felt pretty comfortable. So we moved on to the flute.
Me playing the flute is like a 5-year-old trying to get a sound by blowing across a full Coke bottle. There’s a lot of huffing and puffing, and pretty soon people are running to find a paper bag for you to breathe into. There is dizziness and the world starts to go black. But no sound comes out except something that sounds like a weak, angry mouse.
Logan agreed I came in first on the clarinet. But I finished second on the sax. Move it on over, Charlie Parker. Here I come.