Frank Mullen's very unofficial source of poop, skinny and bitching for present and former U.S. Navy Musicians.
Showing posts with label navy band. Show all posts
Showing posts with label navy band. Show all posts
Monday, April 14, 2025
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Saturday, May 17, 2014
To Our Active-duty Comrades
"On Armed Forces Day, we honor the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, and Coast Guardsmen who render the highest service any American can offer.... I urge citizens to learn more about military service by attending and participating in the local observances of the day. I also encourage Americans to volunteer at organizations that provide support to our troops and their families."
Among all patriotic holidays, Armed Forced Day stands out as an observance of all those currently on active duty. In other words, it is not a day look back, but to look around.
And what you'd see--if you could, indeed, look around at all the parades, ceremonies and displays that honor our active-duty compatriots--is military musicians.
Who helps citizens "learn about military service by attending and participating in ...local observances"? Military musicians. Every military band is a representative of its branch of service; sometimes, particularly to audiences in isolated areas who are fortunate enough to have a visit from a traveling unit, a military band is it's branch of service.
Who are the volunteers "at organizations that provide support to our troops and their families"? Military musicians. Every military musician on active duty today is a volunteer who has offered his or her talents to serve a cause greater than self. In this respect, they are patriots.
Armed Forces Week has not been a vacation for these patriots; it has been a time of work, important work. And we who once did his work understand and offer thanks to our brothers and sisters who serve today in military bands. We know what it's like when the guest of honor doesn't get the day off.
Friday, May 16, 2014
A few years back...
Every Navy Musicians Association reunion brings new members, new music and new challenges. But the camaraderie, the sea stories and the joy of sharing ourselves through music--these things never change.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Once again: our fleet bands are the real deal.
I'm a fleet band kind of guy, and that's putting it nicely. Sure, I appreciate the expertise of our "special" bands in Washington and Annapolis, but the fleet bands have always done the heavy lifting.
Last year my wife and I went to see the US Navy Band's Sea Chanters here in western Illinois. They were tremendous, there's no denying it. Midway through the show, they took a few minutes to thank the audience for supporting them on their annual three-week tour.
"Wow," my wife whispered. "A three-week tour! Did you ever do something like that when you were in the Navy?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sometimes, one a month."
So I get bummed when I see well-produced Navy videos that feature fleet bands, but contain soundtrack music by the US Navy Band. Fleet bands are not chopped liver, I tell myself; why do we have to import audio tracks from the high and mighty?
That's what was going through my mind as I watched this video celebrating the 70th anniversary of the US Navy 7th Fleet, a 4 1/2-minute photo montage held together by concert band music. "Damn good video," I'm telling myself, "made even better by the damn US Navy Concert Band. Sure, they're good; great, in fact. But why couldn't a fleet band do the job? In fact, they shoulda had the 7th Fleet Band do the job instead of--"
Then came the closing credits. The music was, in fact, provided by the 7th Fleet Band.
Nicely done, shipmates. Those fancy-pants boys and girls in DC ain't got nothing on you.
I don't say this because I was a fleet bandsman (once leader of the 7th Fleet Ceremonial Band, in fact), or because the Navy Band long ago refused my entreaties to join them in their rigorous regimen of annual three-week tours. No, I say it because it's true:
Our fleet bands are the real deal.
Last year my wife and I went to see the US Navy Band's Sea Chanters here in western Illinois. They were tremendous, there's no denying it. Midway through the show, they took a few minutes to thank the audience for supporting them on their annual three-week tour.
"Wow," my wife whispered. "A three-week tour! Did you ever do something like that when you were in the Navy?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sometimes, one a month."
So I get bummed when I see well-produced Navy videos that feature fleet bands, but contain soundtrack music by the US Navy Band. Fleet bands are not chopped liver, I tell myself; why do we have to import audio tracks from the high and mighty?
That's what was going through my mind as I watched this video celebrating the 70th anniversary of the US Navy 7th Fleet, a 4 1/2-minute photo montage held together by concert band music. "Damn good video," I'm telling myself, "made even better by the damn US Navy Concert Band. Sure, they're good; great, in fact. But why couldn't a fleet band do the job? In fact, they shoulda had the 7th Fleet Band do the job instead of--"
Then came the closing credits. The music was, in fact, provided by the 7th Fleet Band.
Nicely done, shipmates. Those fancy-pants boys and girls in DC ain't got nothing on you.
I don't say this because I was a fleet bandsman (once leader of the 7th Fleet Ceremonial Band, in fact), or because the Navy Band long ago refused my entreaties to join them in their rigorous regimen of annual three-week tours. No, I say it because it's true:
Our fleet bands are the real deal.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
A Veterans Day Salute to our Military Bands
Originally published in the Rock Island Argus & Moline Dispatch, Nov. 8, 2012
I love military band concerts. Listening to our nation's finest musicians perform with precision and flair evokes deep feelings of forgivable--I hope--pride. I once was a Navy bandleader. Long ago I turned in my baton, and now I'm the old guy who sets up his folding chair in the park and stands at a rusty "Attention" when the band plays "Anchors Aweigh."
As much as I enjoy watching a military band parade down Main Street or play patriotic tunes in a high school auditorium, I know that such public performances are only a small part of their job. Providing ceremonial and musical support for our Armed Forces is the real reason for military bands. At this, their true mission, they prove their worth daily.
If you have a relative or close friend who has enlisted in the Navy, you may have attended a boot camp graduation at Illinois's Great Lakes Recruit Training Command. This stirring ceremony marks the recruit's transition from a kid who has trouble making his own bed to a Guardian of Freedom. The occasion is accompanied by spirited martial music, not from a digital recording, but from Navy Band Great Lakes, an active duty group of military professionals. Why? Because those new sailors deserve nothing less than the best.
It’s less likely that you’ve attended a Navy change of command ceremony. The transfer of command of a ship or squadron from one experienced officer to another is the most serious of occasions. Here, the presence of a military band lends solemnity to the moment. Like those brand new sailors at Great Lakes, our Armed Service's leaders and seasoned forces deserve the best.
And, unless you're a veteran yourself, it's highly unlikely that you have been forward deployed or detailed to a combat zone. A world away from the parades and speeches, thousands of our service men and women today are attending to duty wearing full battle dress. Going in harm's way is their way of life. After a quarter of a century, I still look back at my time in the Korean Demilitarized Zone as the greatest service I ever offered my countrymen. Our Marines on duty in that no-man's land deserved entertainment, brief diversion from the stress of serving on a narrow strip of land between enemies with artillery pointed toward the American forces in the middle. Believe me, the sound of a thousand Marines shouting "Oorah!" as they spring to their feet during a rendition of "God Bless the U.S.A." does not quickly fade away.
Some say that funding for military bands should be cut because they're wasteful frills that aren't strictly necessary. Few who believe that have ever served in uniform.
Marine Corps Dress Blue uniforms are not "strictly necessary"--Marines fight in combat utility uniforms. But shouldn't we honor our finest warriors by giving them the finest ceremonial wear for formal occasions?
Air Force chaplains are not "strictly necessary"--anyone can pray, and Bibles are cheap. But shouldn't those who fly the heavens in our defense receive spiritual care?
Cut from our Armed Forces everything that isn't "strictly necessary," and you'll have an Army that's been stripped of its dignity and a Navy that nobody wants to join.
On Veterans Day, we salute those who have served us so well. I offer an additional "Bravo Zulu"--the Navy signal code for "Well done"--to our active duty military musicians. For them, Veterans Day is not a holiday. It's a working day of ceremonies, concerts and parades, another day to do what they do best:
Support our troops.
Copyright 2012 Frank Mullen III
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Another NMA member caught gigging.
I recently posted about the shocking discovery that certain members of the Navy Musicians Association are actually performing in public during the 51 weeks of the year between reunions. I have vowed to "out" those members who practice, perform or lead ensembles.
Now, it is my sad duty to inform you that I've caught NMA member Bob Marquart in the act of performing in, of all places, New Orleans.
I could understand it if he were gigging in East Peoria or downtown Moose Crossing, Idaho, somewhere where his scandalous behavior would go unnoticed. But no, Marquart has the effrontery to do it in front of the cameras in Jazz City, USA.
Now, it is my sad duty to inform you that I've caught NMA member Bob Marquart in the act of performing in, of all places, New Orleans.
I could understand it if he were gigging in East Peoria or downtown Moose Crossing, Idaho, somewhere where his scandalous behavior would go unnoticed. But no, Marquart has the effrontery to do it in front of the cameras in Jazz City, USA.
For years, Bobby was one of the most active on-call trumpet and banjo players in Virginia Beach. I guess he thought this background, combined with his talent, would open doors for him in New Orleans.
And I guess he was right.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
December greetings to my MU family
Today is my birthday. I am sixty-one years old, pondering my place in a world that managed without me fairly well before my arrival in 1948, and will one day carry on again without my gifted leadership.
I'm also thinking about brotherhood, fellowship and camaraderie.
These are the results of more than sharing good times and beer. If beer were all that true brotherhood required, my lifelong friends would have been the grim, watery-eyed old men I met in Broadway Charlie's in 1974. Out of work in New York, I walked into a dive, spotted an upright piano, sat down and started to play. That night I was the Toast of Manhattan, playing "Toora. Loora, Loora" and "The Wiffenpoof Song" as I soaked up free beer and lofty compliments from my new best friends.
The next morning I was hung over, still broke, still alone and unemployed. After repeating this cycle for a few months, I signed some papers, took an oath and flew to Great Lakes.
The Navy was not all fun and good times. It was work, just like it was for the hull technicians and aviation metalsmiths, except our tools were tubas and clarinets instead of wrenches and blowtorches.
But, as the recruiting posters promised, it was more than a job. The Navy gave me camaraderie and purpose I've never felt in civilian life. Every gig, whether dining-in, ship arrival, change-of-command ceremony or high school concert, served to fulfill the Navy's needs. This was easy to forget, particularly when an inebriated, 23-year-old ensign who had been a humble officer candidate in the morning tried to run my band at the OCS Graduation Ball that night. But I knew I was serving in something important, something bigger than me.
I left the service unexpectedly and abruptly. I harbored some ill-will and tried to forget my former Navy identity. For a number of years I lived within a few hours of Virginia Beach, yet refused to contact old shipmates. Year after year, Terry Chesson, my old bandmaster, would call me and tell me about the Navy Musicians Association, about the fellowship and acceptance he found in that organization. Year, after year, I'd tentatively promise to tentatively give some thought to possibly thinking about possibly joining someday, maybe.
Finally, I caved and signed up. This was one of the best decisions of my life.
As a member of the NMA, my circle of shipmates is wider than ever. I belong to a worldwide fellowship of former and present MUs, some of whom are old friends, some of whom I never met while on active duty, some of whom I still haven't met in person.
Old gripes don't matter anymore. New gripes are rare and, because of a maturity that has come only with the passing years, trifling.
An NMA shipmate, Jack Rodway, and I got into a skirmish early this year. It was a simple matter of political differences, but little things can become magnified these days when it's easy to make the Internet Mistake: E-mail first, think later.
I, of course was the righteous party in the argument. I, after all, am compassionate, committed and concerned. After one of our members, Jim Thumpston, died last December, it was I who was in contact with his daughters in Virginia Beach, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
It was also I who was walking through the parking lot at the reunion in June when Jack Rodway beckoned to me from the lobby. I walked inside, and Jack introduced me to Jim Thumpston's daughters, with whom he, like me, had been in contact for months, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
That which unites shipmates is far greater than any differences. Remember when you were on the beach and a bozo from the deck division was trying to pick a fight? It was a trumpet player from your band who jumped in and bailed you out, the same guy you'd been ready to punch during rehearsal that morning.
My December 6 birthday has always made me aware of the solemnity of the following day. Never do I feel the deep brotherhood of Navy musicians more than when I think of the bandsmen who were serving in Pearl Harbor on that day in 1941 that still lives in infamy. The members of USS Arizona's Band 22, all of whom died at their battle stations, are now more than history to me; they are my family, as are the MUs who were on other ships at Pearl, as are you, my shipmates, and all who have worn the lyre.
If you are a former or present U.S. Navy musician who is still thinking about joining the Navy Musicians Association, I urge you to sign up. A new year is approaching, and the San Antonio reunion is only six months away. You'll find information on joining the NMA here.
I'm also thinking about brotherhood, fellowship and camaraderie.
These are the results of more than sharing good times and beer. If beer were all that true brotherhood required, my lifelong friends would have been the grim, watery-eyed old men I met in Broadway Charlie's in 1974. Out of work in New York, I walked into a dive, spotted an upright piano, sat down and started to play. That night I was the Toast of Manhattan, playing "Toora. Loora, Loora" and "The Wiffenpoof Song" as I soaked up free beer and lofty compliments from my new best friends.
The next morning I was hung over, still broke, still alone and unemployed. After repeating this cycle for a few months, I signed some papers, took an oath and flew to Great Lakes.
The Navy was not all fun and good times. It was work, just like it was for the hull technicians and aviation metalsmiths, except our tools were tubas and clarinets instead of wrenches and blowtorches.
But, as the recruiting posters promised, it was more than a job. The Navy gave me camaraderie and purpose I've never felt in civilian life. Every gig, whether dining-in, ship arrival, change-of-command ceremony or high school concert, served to fulfill the Navy's needs. This was easy to forget, particularly when an inebriated, 23-year-old ensign who had been a humble officer candidate in the morning tried to run my band at the OCS Graduation Ball that night. But I knew I was serving in something important, something bigger than me.
I left the service unexpectedly and abruptly. I harbored some ill-will and tried to forget my former Navy identity. For a number of years I lived within a few hours of Virginia Beach, yet refused to contact old shipmates. Year after year, Terry Chesson, my old bandmaster, would call me and tell me about the Navy Musicians Association, about the fellowship and acceptance he found in that organization. Year, after year, I'd tentatively promise to tentatively give some thought to possibly thinking about possibly joining someday, maybe.
Finally, I caved and signed up. This was one of the best decisions of my life.
As a member of the NMA, my circle of shipmates is wider than ever. I belong to a worldwide fellowship of former and present MUs, some of whom are old friends, some of whom I never met while on active duty, some of whom I still haven't met in person.
Old gripes don't matter anymore. New gripes are rare and, because of a maturity that has come only with the passing years, trifling.
An NMA shipmate, Jack Rodway, and I got into a skirmish early this year. It was a simple matter of political differences, but little things can become magnified these days when it's easy to make the Internet Mistake: E-mail first, think later.
I, of course was the righteous party in the argument. I, after all, am compassionate, committed and concerned. After one of our members, Jim Thumpston, died last December, it was I who was in contact with his daughters in Virginia Beach, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
It was also I who was walking through the parking lot at the reunion in June when Jack Rodway beckoned to me from the lobby. I walked inside, and Jack introduced me to Jim Thumpston's daughters, with whom he, like me, had been in contact for months, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
That which unites shipmates is far greater than any differences. Remember when you were on the beach and a bozo from the deck division was trying to pick a fight? It was a trumpet player from your band who jumped in and bailed you out, the same guy you'd been ready to punch during rehearsal that morning.
My December 6 birthday has always made me aware of the solemnity of the following day. Never do I feel the deep brotherhood of Navy musicians more than when I think of the bandsmen who were serving in Pearl Harbor on that day in 1941 that still lives in infamy. The members of USS Arizona's Band 22, all of whom died at their battle stations, are now more than history to me; they are my family, as are the MUs who were on other ships at Pearl, as are you, my shipmates, and all who have worn the lyre.
If you are a former or present U.S. Navy musician who is still thinking about joining the Navy Musicians Association, I urge you to sign up. A new year is approaching, and the San Antonio reunion is only six months away. You'll find information on joining the NMA here.
There's no requirement that you put it off for years; why wait decades to find out that maybe, just maybe, your old chief isn't such an S.O.B. after all?
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