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Playing music
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This weeks feature
Confessions of a windblower
The pickle factory bosses meant well when they threw a party to soften the blow of redundancy for some of its workers - but it was never going to be a fun night (writes Bob Stonebridge). And it was only the second restaurant gig Brian and I had played as keyboard and sax duo Tuco, an easy-listening combo named after a character in ‘The Good, The Bad And The Ugly’.
We performed our first set alone, as the freshly jobless pickle packers solemnly ate their last supper in the next room. After the meal they arrived from the bar carrying alarming cocktails in DayGlo colours, compliments of their management. We prepared to serenade the marinaders.
Sax ready to wail, lungs and diaphragm filled for the first note, I was interrupted by the barman. ‘They don’t want your music. They’ve asked for CDs instead,’ he said. The laid-off onion preservers preferred to thrash away their troubles on the dance floor to the Fine Young Cannibals before contemplating the Sits Vac columns. Fair enough. That’s showbiz. |
Bob Stonebridge in his Sgt Pepper guise.... |
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Fortunately, playing music for others is normally a far more rewarding experience than our epicurean encounter would suggest. If you enjoy listening to music, make your own for a change. If you can carry a recognisable tune, so much the better.
My father was a good-time pub and club organist and my mother a Deanna Durbin devotee (still is), so there was always music at home. But a fearsome local music teacher with Marje Proops specs meant piano lessons had no appeal for me.
In the beginning...
Years later, my bizarre motivation for lifting a musical instrument was a boy falling from a rope swing. I was walking with my wife and two children, and woodwind was about to blow into our lives.
I telephoned for an ambulance from the nearby home of the village choir leader. As the conversation moved from emergency services to music, she advised that at 35 I was too old for the piano but could try other instruments, woodwind perhaps.
On a keyboard your fingers and thumbs can play 10 notes simultaneously, but clarinet notes come out one at a time. Much less to worry about, you see. First tip: choose the right instrument for you. |
Bargain...
Next you’ll need a good teacher, and your library should give you a name or two. I took my father’s old army band clarinets to my chosen maestro, former bandleader Reg, who declared them unblowable. I bought my first functioning clarinet second-hand through the small ads. While many people are taking up music, others are giving up, so bargains are out there. Or at most music shops you can hire a new instrument. If you decide to keep it, they deduct the rental fees from the purchase price. If you detest the noise you’re making, give it back.
Persevered and reaped early rewards. I remember the first simple tunes to escape my clarinet: Acker Bilk’s ‘Stranger On The Shore’ - did you expect anything else? - and the theme from ‘Dynasty’. Even my neighbours could recognise them.
You don’t need to read music to take up an instrument - the theory follows as you progress with the practical. My school music lessons involved singing ‘Barbara Allen’ once a week, with no instrument in sight, so at 35 - 19 years ago - I clutched a clarinet without knowing my semibreve from my crotchet.
A teacher provides momentum and motivation once a week, but you need to work in between. Try to practise every day for at least 15 minutes. With a teacher, there’s the added spur of avoiding the humiliation of zero progress from the week before. |
Keep playing...
One minor tip: go easy on the garlic before your music lessons. After a heavily spiked French onion soup, I blew garlic fumes all over Reg and Margaret’s bungalow. Another Extra Strong Mint please.
Look for every opportunity to play music with others - family, friends or groups of like-minded hopefuls. Adult eduction centres have options for all skill levels. Keyboard ace Brian and I signed up for an excellent evening class on Practical Pop, where I decided to change to saxophone. The sax is better suited to pop and rock than the clarinet, and it’s easier to play.
More recently I tried the classics again through adult education. My saxophone case and I arrived late to face the town orchestra already in full mellifluous flow. I rested gratefully on a beckoning empty chair in the woodwind section. When the music stopped, the conductor called out: ‘Sorry, we don’t have any saxophone parts.’ Belgian Adolphe Sax invented the saxophone too late for Bach and Beethoven. I should never have sold my clarinet.
As one half of Tuco, I have played venues from village halls to Tesco’s, raising money for worthy causes. Outside WHSmith at Christmas we were asked to move to relieve the manager’s headache. At a care home their piano was totally out of tune with the sax. ‘They won’t notice,’ said matron. ‘Are you the doctor?’ asked a resident. |
Rewarding...
At family gatherings I can inflict my music on suspecting guests, as I did at ‘Help!’, my 50th birthday Beatles bash, dressed in a Sgt Pepper costume (see picture) made by my Auntie Gill, bespoke tailoress. ‘Let’s have the karaoke back!’ they cried mid-way through our second set. Now I’m also a soul brother, covering Motown numbers with six-piece band The Shamlas, altering practise sessions between a cricket club bar and a doctors’ surgery (our bass player is a GP). Taking bookings now.
Making music and its endless rewards, most certainly none financial, are waiting for you. Just check the occasion before accepting any pickle factory engagements. |
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