I Haven’t Understood A Bar Of Music In My Life But I Have Felt It*

If you want to really feel the music, play percussion.

My older brother played the piano beautifully. From an early age he was able to concentrate on his teacher, Ms. Brett’s, patient ministrations. He was playing “March of the Wooden Soldiers” within weeks and advancing to recitals by 4th grade.

He even played in the high school student variety show and one night in front of the PTA.

Our parents had always supported him through the few rebellious musical hard times.They repeatedly reminded him that when he grew up he would be thankful he’d learned to play the piano.

Our father mentioned he could put the fact that he played on his college applications and have an edge for acceptance at an Ivy League school.

He’d be the center of attention at every social event he attended. Everyone would gather around him and sing.

Our father exorted the benefits.

I don’t know if my brother found all this motivating but I do know; as soon as he went away to college he’d tickled his last ivory.

Incidentally, he did get in the Ivy League school of his choice but for many other more conventional reasons.

Me; I was an abysmal failure as a pianist right from the get-go.

I took lessons a couple weeks from Ms. Brett the results of which discouraged my wishful parents.

I didn’t progress past the scales before I was allowed to quite.

That’s why when I expressed an interest in the playing the triangle in the newly formed Oakhurst Elementry school orchestra in 3rd grade my parents were overjoyed.

My reasons for joining may have not all have been musically altruistic.

My first reason is that I sensed that my parents had always wanted some type of musical instrument in my life and I wanted to appease them.

My second reason was that the orchestra was going to give a concert at Wanamassa Elementry. The musicians would have to travel to by bus and miss a whole afternoon of school.

Third and the most important; the 3th grade orchestra was scheduled to participate in the graduation of the 8th graders in June.

I was told the cermony lasted until around 11:00pm, well past my ordinary bedtime.

I picked the triangle to play. It seemed to be the one I could master with the least amount of effort.

Needless to say my parents were wildly supportive when I told them of my musical intentions.

I heard them mention to friends that I was a member of the newly formed Oakhurst 3rd grade symphony. They avoided disclosing the instrument I played simply referring to it as percussion if asked

The orchestra was formed around the middle of the school year.

We practiced during art class on Tuesday afternoon.

The Oakhurst school board subtly required pulling at least some creativity out of each student, if possible. If a kid wasn’t in the orchastra, a least the child could smear paint on a piece of construction paper and give it to his/her tax paying mother or father on Mother’s Day or your dad’s birthday.

Some of the the kids in the orchestra had taken music lessons since they were born. We had the piano, oboe, French horn, violin, cello and snare drum covered with kids who knew how to play those instruments by virtue of lifelong lessons.

I was lucky to get the triangle. It proved the be a wise choice; my friends Brad Swartz, Mike Lynch, Jeramy and John Burr all wanted to play the cymbals. Only Brad and Mike got the chance.

Turns out the school only had 4 cymbals. One for each child’s hand to bang together creating as much audio carnage as possible.

Jeramy and Mike got art.

I was the only one who tried out for the triangle,so I got the job without having to compete.

I was the only one who knew the triangle existed at all.

The year went by so fast.

We played Wanamassa to great critical acclaim.

That is, if you listen to our parent’s reviews.

Focusing on 8th grade graduation, the months of April and May were spent practicing “The Graduation March.”.

Before we all knew it, June was upon us.

The night we were to play in the 8th grade graduation , mom made me wear my best corduroy shirt.

My mother and father drove me over to the school and said they would stay for the ceremony because I was to be an important part.

The symphony was seated in chairs directly in front of the stage that had folding chairs arranged for the graduates arranged in back of a podium.

The conductor of our orchestra, our music teacher Mrs. Berrycloth, raised her baton signaling for us to get ready to play.

The graduates were ready to begin their march to high school.

May I take the opportunity at this juncture to explain how the orchestra fitted in this important transitional tradition?

I’m able to evaluate retrospectively much better than I could at the time as a participant.

Mrs Berrycloth, told us on a weekly basis that we were doing real well. She mentioned “The Graduation March,” was a difficult piece.

However, reflecting back 60+ years, the people who witnessed the processional quite possibly thought it was an irritating discord.

Oh, I know Jenny Wu had 4 years of violin lessons and told me she could read music, Johnny O’Boyle took piano for a couple of years and could play so that you could identify what he was playing — but most of us were just kept banging away with no idea.

We percussionists were in the center of this cacophony.

Experiencing Oakhurst’s 3rd grade orchastra was like traveling through the mountains with your AM radio on. You know, where you seem to get reception from 8 or 9 different stations at once each playing their own brand of heavy medal with a dose of blue grass thrown in to add to the audio chaos?

Parents praised us because they were — our parents; not music critics from the New York Times.

The graduates started their procession lead by our 90 year old principal Mrs. Vorhees.

The symphony started our unrecognizable rendition of “The Graduation march.”

I proceeded to bang on the triangle for all I was worth.

Playing the triangle is not particularly intellectualy challenging.

As the graduates contined to take their seats on the gym stage, my mind began to wonder.

I began to look out into the gathering of parents and pick out people I knew.

Then I’d try to find; my parents, Jenny’s parents, Mike’s parents, the janitor Cliff.

I lost track of the fact that the graduates had already been seated and Miss. Voorhees had taken her place at the lectern to give the Welcoming Address.

The rest of the orchestra had finish but I continued playing my triangle.

Pling, pling,pling; Miss. Voorhees now looking my way willing me to stop; me still identifying familiar faces in the gym, not noticing.

Pling, pling, pling the rest of the auditorium silent.

Mrs. Berrycloth eventually woke me from my trace by dashing across the stage and gently imprisioned my beater arm.

Not before I had played close to a minute solo on the triangle.

Possibly those attending thought it was part of the program.

I knew,however.

On the ride home my parents tried to, lessen my embarassment.

My mother said that she thought that the orchestra played nicely and loud enough so everybody could hear.

My father said,”God Damn, Brian the school could be on fire and you’d still be playing if Berrycloth hadn’t stopped you.

Did you really think that I did that on purpose, Dad?

*Igor Stravinsky