I Saw Three Ships: Steve Dimond, Dave Lock, Frank Mullen

I was in the basement and tripped on a box of stuff I've been meaning to sort through. Out fell a  cassette tape in its plastic case.

I thought I lost this recording of I Saw Three Ships years ago. In the early 1990s. I was living in Fredericksburg, VA and arranged the old carol for my old shipmate Dave Lock, who had also left the Navy and owned an audio/visual production company in Wilmington, DE. He was making a holiday promotion for clients, and I was glad to help out.

To sing the lead, we got another old shipmate, Steve Dimond, who was working in Las Vegas. I put together the MIDI tracks in Virginia, Steve recorded the lead vocal to digital tape in Las Vegas, and Dave mixed the whole thing together in Wilmington.

Dave and I haven't seen each other in years. Steve is gone now.

But here we are, together again.

 

Santa Visits Northeast Navy Band

If you've ever seen the classic Christmas movie "Miracle on 34th Street," you know that Santa Claus can talk to children all over the world, whatever their language or dialect may be.

So it's no surprise that when Santa visits Newport, RI, he speaks with the accent of a southern New Englander. In fact, when you hear Santa talk to Northeast Navy Band's director, LCDR Carl Gerhardt, you'd swear you're listening to NMA member and Rhode Islander Jack Rodway.

Santa's clarinet style is a lot like Jack's, too. It's a shame Jack couldn't make it to this concert; he and St. Nick have a lot in common.

Now that I think about it, you never see Santa Claus and Jack Rodway at the same time. Hmm...

Melody? I don't need no stinkin' melody.

A few years ago I came across a clip of the Russian Navy Showband performing "Let It Be." It demonstrated in a clear and unique manner what Navy bands are capable of doing, not that they should necessarily do them. (I've included it again at the bottom of this post, for those who missed it.)

Today, I present a new addition to the International Hall of Navy Band Greatness. This is the INS Chilika Band of the Indian Navy, headquartered on India's east coast at the INS Chilika Sailor Training Establishment.

Evidently, a new musical practice has swept the Indian subcontinent. Not knowing the precise term, I'll call it "Music Minus Melody." Performer and listener are now equal partners. The band's job is to play, and the listener's job is to try to guess what the band is playing.

In western Navy band concerts, the audience is spoon-fed by a narrator who spells it out for you, as in "The music of Irving Berlin blah blah of Russian birth yada yada but a true American through and through blah blah et cetera 'God Bless America.'"

When "Music Minus Melody is employed, the listener is not offered the smallest clue. He or she must consider the complexities of harmony, texture and traditional accompaniment styles in order to suss out the meagerest of melodic implications.

I believe the band in this clip is playing "(There'll Be a) Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight." You may disagree. Feel free to let me know, and don't feel obligated to prove your reasoning. There is no "right" or "wrong" where "Music Minus Melody"is concerned. It's much like an interfaith prayer breakfast--I pray to Jesus, you pray to the Three Headed Monkey, someone says "Amen," and we all shake hands head to the office.

But I really do think it's "Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight." You'll notice that at about 1:03, the conductor briefly stops conducting. He's clearly as astonished as I was to find trace evidence of a melody.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, here is the INS Chilika Sailor Training Establishment playing "_______."

   

Oh, yes, I almost forgot; here's the video that started my quest for collecting evidence of greatness in Navy bands. This is the Russian Navy Show Band. For those who saw this when I first posted it a few years ago, be warned: this is not a fine wine that improves with age.

 

Fly High the Banner

A month ago, I came home from the Veterans Day parade and, to my surprise, found a Navy pennant flying in my lawn. It was a gift from the folks across the street. Rick and Cheri are good neighbors, solid citizens, a proud Army family with three sons serving in the National Guard. 

The best way to show appreciation for such a gift is to display it proudly. Our prairie winds, unfortunately, often prohibit this. 

But today was calm, so I'm showing my thanks by flying the banner...

Fair winds, old friends.

I'm thinking today about shipmates who are gone.

Mike. Steve. Mark.

I'm not a member of the World War Two generation whose whose sacrifices are honored daily at funerals and memorial services. I barely make it into the Social Security generation. But none of us are immortal. We all, eventually, go.

Phil, my barracks mate; gone. Bill, gone.

My commanding officers were older than me, so it's only natural that they go before I do. Commander Field. Lieutenant Commander Clemens. They're gone.

Some were young sailors who worked for me, kids that drove me crazy. Pitty-Pat, the Young Buck. They're gone.

Only a few decades ago, you might never hear of the loss of Jack or Pat. Today, the news is on your screen and in your eyeballs within seconds. Ricky is gone. And Thumper. And Ben, and Noonie, and Doug.

Seen with grand perspective, they were veterans, leaders, sailors, Marines, Americans who gave years of service to their country.But to me, they were people I worked with, worked for, played with, ate with in the chow hall, bitched with when we were passed over for promotions and drank with when we sewed on our new stripes.

Our lives are the results of the lessons we learn. I am fortunate that so many of my teachers wore gold anchors, silver bars, red hash marks and bell-bottom trousers.

Washington, D.C., Navy Yard Security, 1974.

In early 1974, set up an audition for the Navy music program. Since I lived in suburban Washington, D.C., I was told to report to the U.S. Navy Band at the Sail Loft in the Navy Yard.

The bus dropped me off in Southeast D.C., and I walked a few blocks to the Navy Yard. It was morning rush hour, and a Marine was standing outside the guard shack, busily saluting uniformed personnel and waving pedestrians and vehicles through the gate.

I walked up to him and told him I was going to the Navy Band.

"Are they expecting you?" he asked.

"Yes, "I have an appointment."

"Okay," he said. "This is Gate One. To get to the Sail Loft, you have to go to Gate Two."

I walked through Southeast Washington, D.C. to Gate Two.

A Marine was standing outside the guard shack, busily saluting uniformed personnel and waving pedestrians and vehicles through the gate.

I told him, "I have an appointment at the Navy Band. The guy at Gate One said I had to come here."

"Do you have a pass?" he asked.

"No."

"You can't get on base without a pass."

"Where do I get a pass?"

"Gate One," he said.

I walked through Southeast Washington, D.C. back to Gate One. The first Marine was saluting uniformed personnel and waving pedestrians and vehicles through the gate. I looked straight ahead, picked up my pace like I was in a hurry and strode through the gate, past the guard shack and all the way to the Sail Loft.