Getting Sentimental Over the NMA Reunion

The Orpheum Theatre in Galesburg, Illinois was swinging last night. The Tommy Dorsey Orchestra was in town and I enjoyed a two-hour performance by this classic legacy band, trombonist and longtime Dorsey associate Buddy Morrow at the helm.

They played Dorsey standards--"Getting Sentimental," "Opus One, "Song of India, "Marie" (with gang vocal)--with the smooth expertise of seasoned professionals. Buddy is 89 years old, and some of the sax players aren't far behind. And they cooked up some more contemporary entertainment with the unbridled energy of talented youngsters. The rhythm section looked like a trio straight out of "A" school; the pianist was 22, a quarter of Buddy's age.

The players have met the challenge of all full-time professionals who must master their repertoire and still make it fresh night after night. And, as superb as the band was, it made me appreciate the musicianship I encounter at the NMA reunions.

The Navy Musician Association bands meet but once a year. We sit on the bandstand between trombone players we played with forty years ago and drummers we met for the first time at breakfast. We play charts we haven't seen in decades and sight-read arrangements that were copyrighted last week.

We're professionals and amateurs; we're full-timers and part-timers. Some of us don't play as well as we used to, and some of us are playing better than ever.

And we swing. Last year, with the debut of a new band at the Saturday night dinner/dance, we even started to rock.

For a few days, we work, play, woodshed and wail. And just when we're getting the notes under our fingers, it's time to pack the seabags and head back home.

But for those few days, my friends, we're at the top of our game. Believe me, if the NMA Big Band had been onstage in a battle of the bands with the Dorsey organization last night, the outcome would have been in doubt.

After all, they're every bit as good as we are.

Four Ruffles & Flourishes and a Firing Squad

My informant who provided the sordid details about the White House ceremony at which the Army Herald Trumpets and the US Marine Band played Hail to the Chief out of sync with each other and in different keys--described in the post below--has learned how things went so wrong.

According to a highly-placed Washington, DC source, the Army's Herald Trumpets always perform the presidential honors at White House arrival ceremonies. The Herald Trumpets know this. The president's staff knows this. Anyone who has ever studied for the MU2 test knows this.

The coordinator from the Marine Band didn't know this. He didn't attend the dry run, didn't even attend the talk-through rundown of the ceremony.

Fortunately the bands were spaced far enough apart that most attendees, including the president, were unaware that honors music was being performed by two bands in two locations in two keys.

Not doubt this was followed by a smaller, more private ceremony in honor of the Marine Band's coordinator at which the honors were performed on muffled drums.

The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen

To look at the photographs of me from my ceremonial band conducting days, you wouldn't guess that, inside, I was a quivering mass of nervous frenzy. At every moment during a ceremony, I was frantically considering what was about to go wrong and how my career would suffer.

I later came to learn that I was not alone--worrying about The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen is a job requirement, a practical factor for the position of cermonial band conductor.

Sometimes, The Worst Thing actually does happen. The following sound file came to me from a trusted friend who passed it along as he received it from his source. He has asked to remain anonymous but states that a "top D.C. band Commander" confims the story is true. Here's the poop:

Two military bands--the U.S. Marine Corps band and the Army Herald Trumpets--were recently ordered to participate in the ceremony welcoming the Pope to the White House. The following sound file is a recording of the rendition of honors to the President of the United States. We may not have the answer as to why things went afoul, but we can agree on one thing: the Herald Trumpet arrangement of "Hail to the Chief" is not in the same key as the band arrangement.

Click on the folowing link, put yourself in the shoes of a nervous bandleader and prepare to die just a little bit as you listen to a recording of The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen.

What's in a name?

Someone posted a comment to the story below about John Fluck's photo-op with President Bush:

John Fluck was once asked by a nice lady what his first name was. He
responded...'Mother'!

Well, maybe. It sounds a little too perfect; sea stories about suggestive or unusual names automatically set off the Too-Good-To-Be-True warning buzzer.

However, I was a witness--well, almost--to this one:

After a change of command on Treasure Island, San Francisco in the mid-70s, I was playing the piano at a reception at the officers' club. Doyle Church, the ceremonial band conductor, walked up to me in dress blues and red face. He said, "I just did something really stupid."

All ears, I stopped playing and listened to his story of humiliation.

"I just met the base chaplain," MU1 Church said. "He looked at my nametag and said, 'You have an interesting name.' So I said, "Yeah, my daddy was named Doyle, too."

Another example of government incompetence

(Washington, D.C.) The National Department of Teleportation has become the target of a federal probe after a series of failed experiments.

Earlier this month, John Fluck, LCDR (RET), was accidentally teleported to the White House. "Was I surprised? Hell, yes," Fluck said. "They aimed the beam at me and told me I was going to a jam session in Copenhagen. The next thing you know, I'm in the White House banging out 'Chopsticks' with George W. Bush."

Asked to judge the president's musical abilities, Fluck, a former Navy musician and current NMA member replied, "How should I know? It was 'Chopsticks,' for crying out loud. He had the top part. The real work is in the accomaniment."

Teleportation volunteer John Fluck is surpised
by the results of an experiment gone wrong.