THE AIR TRUMPET
Don't you love the Saturday morning texts from your gal pals about WXRT flashbacks?
I'll be driving to County Fair at the same exact time, with the same exact list, in the same exact sweatshirt on a Saturday morning when my phone will ding.
"1970 on WXRT. Killin it."
Unlike WXRT Saturday morning flashbacks, no one is going to text you in all CAPS demanding you to turn on The Lite. "They're playing Celine Dion's 'Because You Loved Me' for the third time today. Crank it!" Nope. Not gonna happen.
Duh-LIE-LAAAH. Is she still a DJ?
However, December is the exception. I will text my sisters that "Sleigh Ride" just began on 93.9 The Lite. Hurry up and blast it. You didn't miss the WHA-TEEEESH whip and dramatic horse neigh at the end. I mean, if that part passed, I wouldn't have bothered texting you. Nothing compares to that horse neigh in any Christmas instrumental. I lay at night dreaming that, one day, I might meet the first seat in the brass section of Mannheim Steamroller and get his autograph. That guy nails a horse neigh better than the Farmer Says See-n-Say Toy by Fisher Price.
You know what else is cool? The dude who wrote it? His name is Leroy. Leroy Anderson.
I wonder if Leroy knows that I have spent most years of my life honing my air trumpet. I played the cornet trumpet for a year in grammar school. My dad would pee his pants laughing at how red my face would get blowing those notes. I split my lip, popped my ears, and burst some blood vessels in my face every time I practiced. Blood seeped through the mouthpiece into the horn, and I couldn't tell where that tinny smell was coming from. The iron in my blood or the brass from the horn? There was always plenty of saliva to drain from the water key and it was usually streaked with blood.
And, I could not read music. Anything beyond the basic notes was Mandarin to me. I just watched when Tracy and Shannon pressed two valves down at the same time and imitated them. Especially during concerts, I aped their subtle nodding of the head and soft tapping of the shoe. What were they doing anyways? The only concept of time I had was 9:00 p.m. Time to go to Purple Cow to celebrate my band concert!
To make up for my lack of talent, I, like many others, have taken up air instruments. Air guitar. Air keyboards. Air drums. Air saxophone. Even air harmonica. And everyone plays the air fiddle to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." But one that I actually practice in my spare time is the air trumpet. When one thinks of the air horn, one probably pictures my cheeks puffed out like a blow fish with three fingers mimicking the movements of a professional trumpeter. But I also sound out the notes - flats, sharps, high pitches, bugle blares, elephant blasts. Chuck Mangione, Rubin from The Blues Brothers, multiple songs by Chicago, and Herb Alpert tunes are always fun. But the best are "Penny Lane" and "Sir Duke."
This affinity for playing air horns is in the DNA. My siblings and I cannot tell a story without sound effects, including horns. My dad was known for his personal, instrument-free rendition of the Notre Dame fight song. All he needed was his limbs and personal sound effects. Some people inherit freckles, stubbornness, or big feet. I, on the other hand, inherited a pretty decent air horn.
My old trumpet is retired. It rests peacefully on my dining room shelf next to my 'Nawlins trumpet player. It serves as a reminder of what could have been. And inspiration to perfect my air horn.
I'll be driving to County Fair at the same exact time, with the same exact list, in the same exact sweatshirt on a Saturday morning when my phone will ding.
"1970 on WXRT. Killin it."
Unlike WXRT Saturday morning flashbacks, no one is going to text you in all CAPS demanding you to turn on The Lite. "They're playing Celine Dion's 'Because You Loved Me' for the third time today. Crank it!" Nope. Not gonna happen.
Duh-LIE-LAAAH. Is she still a DJ?
However, December is the exception. I will text my sisters that "Sleigh Ride" just began on 93.9 The Lite. Hurry up and blast it. You didn't miss the WHA-TEEEESH whip and dramatic horse neigh at the end. I mean, if that part passed, I wouldn't have bothered texting you. Nothing compares to that horse neigh in any Christmas instrumental. I lay at night dreaming that, one day, I might meet the first seat in the brass section of Mannheim Steamroller and get his autograph. That guy nails a horse neigh better than the Farmer Says See-n-Say Toy by Fisher Price.
You know what else is cool? The dude who wrote it? His name is Leroy. Leroy Anderson.
I wonder if Leroy knows that I have spent most years of my life honing my air trumpet. I played the cornet trumpet for a year in grammar school. My dad would pee his pants laughing at how red my face would get blowing those notes. I split my lip, popped my ears, and burst some blood vessels in my face every time I practiced. Blood seeped through the mouthpiece into the horn, and I couldn't tell where that tinny smell was coming from. The iron in my blood or the brass from the horn? There was always plenty of saliva to drain from the water key and it was usually streaked with blood.
And, I could not read music. Anything beyond the basic notes was Mandarin to me. I just watched when Tracy and Shannon pressed two valves down at the same time and imitated them. Especially during concerts, I aped their subtle nodding of the head and soft tapping of the shoe. What were they doing anyways? The only concept of time I had was 9:00 p.m. Time to go to Purple Cow to celebrate my band concert!
To make up for my lack of talent, I, like many others, have taken up air instruments. Air guitar. Air keyboards. Air drums. Air saxophone. Even air harmonica. And everyone plays the air fiddle to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." But one that I actually practice in my spare time is the air trumpet. When one thinks of the air horn, one probably pictures my cheeks puffed out like a blow fish with three fingers mimicking the movements of a professional trumpeter. But I also sound out the notes - flats, sharps, high pitches, bugle blares, elephant blasts. Chuck Mangione, Rubin from The Blues Brothers, multiple songs by Chicago, and Herb Alpert tunes are always fun. But the best are "Penny Lane" and "Sir Duke."
This affinity for playing air horns is in the DNA. My siblings and I cannot tell a story without sound effects, including horns. My dad was known for his personal, instrument-free rendition of the Notre Dame fight song. All he needed was his limbs and personal sound effects. Some people inherit freckles, stubbornness, or big feet. I, on the other hand, inherited a pretty decent air horn.
My old trumpet is retired. It rests peacefully on my dining room shelf next to my 'Nawlins trumpet player. It serves as a reminder of what could have been. And inspiration to perfect my air horn.
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