A Story of Three Trumpet Players

This posting comes to you today, inspired by request from one of my oldest friends, a fellow trumpet player. We met in junior high, and I still consider him as one of my dearest friends. So, when he requested a story about junior high school band, I set out to write one. Sometimes, when you write about your childhood, you see your close connection to the here and now…

I sat down to record my first talk podcast episode last week, a project I’m developing to combine my need to talk so damn much all the time with my need to build an audience for future creative projects. These days, making movies and visual entertainment has become more of an audience acquisition business. If that kind of topic interests you, this post from former head of Amazon Studios and infamous indie film producer Ted Hope discusses it in more detail. From Netflix to Paramount+ to YouTube to TikTok, owning access to your audience drives decisions and investments, and we all have gotten used to getting our entertainment that way. So, I best build myself an audience.

I wanted to find a format that would require the least effort, partially due to laziness, but also partially due to the reality that it increases my chances of consistency. Thus, a talk podcast. I’ve asked my friend, a fellow creative spirit and trumpet player, to join me.

The Story of a Trumpet Player: Ivo

I hold an inexplicably extra fondness for my friend Ivo. As two eccentric misfits, we formed an immediate connection when we met at the U of I in jazz band. We discovered that we could do one thing very well: crack each other up. We quickly fell into a pattern of having too much fun to the point of getting on many varied sets of nerves: band directors, friends, improv teachers, even strangers.

Unavoidably, we wound up going through Second City together, where we practiced improvising scenes and developing characters, some now long forgotten, and a few more -- regrettably remembered (be sure to ask Ivo about Crab Man). We both reveled in acting like morons on stage, often discovering the only big laughs coming from each other.

Clearly, Ivo was the perfect candidate to join me for a creative project, allowing me to work out the nutty, off-center stream of thought-traffic jamming up my brain. And, hopefully, we still held the ability to entertain.

It turns out that creating an original talk show podcast of a certain level of quality requires some work. While it’s easy to get stuck in development mode with any project, we wanted to avoid the trap of “talking about” a talk podcast, and actually jump right into the talking.

Our first attempt proved we could certainly talk. Nothing worth sharing, but mouths moving with words? Sure. We could see we have work to do. But, enough of the crying of eyes and stomping of feet about the frustrating challenges I completely expected.

On some level, I knew I would not simply sit down at a microphone, and start talking, and a fully formed podcast would explode itself into digital form, ready for consumption by ears everywhere. But, I have always felt a drive to jump ahead to the fun of the final product, a problem that has haunted me since I first began my creative career as a much younger player of the trumpet.

The Story of a Trumpet Player: Dan

I began my trumpet journey in sixth grade. I wanted so much to play trombone, because the slide seemed like fun. The band director convinced my parents that I should try the trumpet instead, since my arms could not reach far enough for the trombone slide or for cleaning skyscraper windows, a job I inevitably would have to take when I realized trombone players don’t get gigs. BOOM!

Some might say I dodged a bullet that night for other reasons. In reality, this seemingly simple choice would set a trajectory of decisions, dreams, and disappointments that would determine who became my friends, the kind of attention I would crave, and the general perspective on the confounding mysteries of life. Besides, what do trombone players even do when they’re not on the bandstand. Who can ever know? I can only speak for the lives of trumpet players. It’s a fast, exciting life filled with insane parties, non-stop romance, thrilling chases, betrayals, and surprising redemption, especially from the relentless minutes of rehearsal in a junior high band.

Because of the physical realities of bands, you need to sit right next to the other musicians. So, this class provided a completely unique configuration compared to all the other classrooms, perfect conditions for whispering hilarious commentary. I can’t remember the nature of the jokes, but I can only guess by all the uncontrollable laughing that each carefully crafted zinger must have demonstrated the potential for comedy genius. And it’s a pastime I never dropped.

Even now, when I’m in close quarters with a group of perfectly respectable adults, like a work meeting or at a funeral, I have to fight my inner childhood instincts to inject the gift of hilarity right into the heart of the moment. Part of me craves recreating those moments of bliss as a kid, entertaining myself and those around me, and essentially escaping for just a short moment of time all the relentless pressures of chasing success, conforming to the seemingly random social norms, and drive to fight to the death for acceptance by your fellow classmates, all while we scratched and clawed at each other in our battle for a decent spot on the Bell curve.

Aside from using humor to reject the nonsense of authority, I simply wanted to skip the hard work and get to the fun part. For that reason, I struggled for a time with the idea of practicing my trumpet. I could skirt by without too much effort, technically hitting most of the notes at the right time in the song. Although, both my school music teacher and private trumpet teacher still could tell that I had not practiced. They would always make me admit that I didn’t do enough practicing, which felt dreadful, but not enough to push me to change my ways. Bare minimum became my subconscious mantra. It’s what I use to meditate now -- bare minimum, bare minimum, bare minimum...

The Story of a Trumpet Player: David

Junior high showed the true value of music: a way to make friends. In band, I always wound up seated next to the same trumpet player, someone who would become one of my very first true friends outside my neighborhood crew. David seemed to get along with just about everyone, as a smart, well-adjusted, likable kid. These characteristics seemed foreign to me, but regardless, he seemed to accept me with all my quirky, awkward, and sometimes obnoxious behavior.

David and I shared an acute love to laugh at practically nothing, much like Ivo. I would say it’s a trumpet thing, except, I have seen other non-trumpet playing humans out in the wild enjoying laughter, so it could simply be a human thing. Regardless, I remember laughing so hard during lessons, falling into an endless pit of giggles. That rare glorious kind of laughing fit -- you know the kind -- where you so badly want to stop laughing, but the muscles have taken over. “I’m in control now, and you will laugh until you feel pain. Then, and only then will I have decided I have my share.”

Compare that with my trombone friend, who spent his lesson trying to convince our music teacher to slow dance with him. He was more of a Casanova prodigy. Trombones, am I right?

David and I survived junior high and went our separate ways for high school, but as fate would have it, David and I somehow found our way back together at the U of I. In college marching band, the laughing fits became more sophisticated and complex, now in response to the much more refined, highly transcendent comedy of Bill, Ted, and the Kids in the Hall.

A Final Thought on Three Trumpet Players

Playing in band allowed me the freedom to act like my truest self without judgment, mostly due to the good nature of Ivo, David, and countless trumpet players. However, it took me a long time to learn that jumping right to the fun part meant skipping over those deeper questions that I now long to address.

As a mid-life adult, I can only hope to spread the delight of my childhood laughter with my talk podcast, as I dig deep into questions of the meaning of life and how to maneuver the complexities of humanity. Since I have finally learned that quality requires practice, I look forward some talking, some more talking, and even more talking, until at some point, practice makes laughter.