The LP Collective

One of the more pleasant aspects about posting on this blog has been the excuse to listen to a lot of my old records and CDs. Lockdown has meant that in theory at least there is more time to do this - and I’ve been enjoying thinking about seasonal music; all types of music in fact - and unashamedly gorging on listening. I wasn’t sure however how our family was going to respond to the build up this Christmas…. It’s usually a time of flying by the seat of our pants; Big C is out doing gigs, the kids are working to their own crazy schedules and I am trying to keep about a million pieces in my head whilst conducting all the different ensembles for their various functions. OK - a million is a bit of an exaggeration but you get my gist. We manage by drinking gallons of mulled wine, hoovering up mince pies and any other freebies that are going round and consuming a lot of freezer food. I know, I know - we’re supposed to be handcrafting all our own gifts, preparing homemade jams and chutneys and adorning the tree with specially designed decorations. But bollocks to all of that; we don’t have time. Musicians never do.

So what to do in this weird year? Suddenly we’re not spending the whole of December living on adrenaline and there is a strange void in our lives. So, Big C and I have decided to fill much of this by forming a brass group with the boys. It ticks a lot of boxes; sharing something with our children, continuing to have a musical activity, doing something constructive on a Saturday night instead of watching endless repeats of Blackadder, etc, etc. Actually it’s not entirely new; cobbling music together over the season has become something of a family ritual, but this year we have started building up repertoire and - to our surprise - have even enjoyed it. “I thought you were a percussionist or a conductor or something?” I hear you say. You would be right of course, but parping away on a bit of crap second trumpet adds a surprisingly fulfilling dimension to my life.

Anyway, rehearsals started about three weeks ago and they have unfolded thus:

• The children are called downstairs to start warming up, so we can gently play through a couple of easy tunes.

• Suddenly they either need the loo or have to complete an urgent task for school.

• Eventually, having been threatened or cajoled they slouch downstairs, annoy each other and a fight is broken up.

• Some playing starts and a semblance of music begins. Our younger child uses this is an opportunity to play as loudly as possible and - ideally - put everything up an octave. In his defence, he is the lead trumpet player and as we all know, it is in their DNA - especially when twelve - to play as loudly and as tastelessly as possible (although come to think of it I’m not sure many male players ever grow out of this). The older child (fourteen) then uses this an excuse to out-blast his brother; that after all is the purpose of being an older sibling.

• Errors and tuning issues are pointed out by me and flatly denied by the boys. “It definitely wasn’t me - you must be losing your hearing.” “I am not losing my hearing - it is my job to spot mistakes and correct them.” A different tack is then attempted “Why do you care so much about this anyway? You only ever care about music - you’re not even interested in our schoolwork.” As there is a grain of truth in this, I choose to say nothing.

• Big C meanwhile, also says nothing - it is his tactic for coping with life in general; words require too much effort.

• Someone breaks wind. It is often a hazard of brass playing - something to do with expanding the diaphragm. Another person finds this amusing and joins in. A window is opened.

• Further attempts are made to continue rehearsing after uncontrollable giggling; it is impossible to form an embouchure during this time and threats are made.

• Eventually a couple of tunes are roughly hacked through and the rehearsal is abandoned.

Despite all of these hazards, progress has been made and we have been approached by our local vicar to accompany a couple of Christmas light switch-ons. The surprise has been that the boys have actually demonstrated a degree of engagement in all of this and the younger astonished me the other day by asking as casually as possible “Are we having a rehearsal tonight?” Big C and I quickly decided to make the most of this grudging new interest, and although working with family is absolutely infuriating at times - so far, it has been a welcome distraction.

Our first presentation commences this weekend and we are all anticipating the warmth that comes with a community gig such as this. There is something deeply wholesome about contributing to our little part of the world in this way. It feels nice. Genuine, unpretentious, old-fashioned and - perhaps above all of that - appreciated. Nobody minds that it is unsophisticated - tacky even - because we are not trying to be cool. Live music at Christmas appeals to so many of our basic instincts - as a comforting, cheerful thing to have in midwinter - and we are only too happy to play our part in this. We are looking forward to the candles, the prettiness of the church, the comfort of the home made refreshments and the feeling that we have made a tiny musical contribution to our local patch. We have however succumbed to one piece of self-indulgence which is in our name; it has been changed to the title of this article. The clan surname simply wasn’t exotic enough. Oh well. You have to allow us some vanity.

Uplifting music of the day: ‘Overture’ from ‘The Nutcracker Suite’ - Tchaikovsky arranged (crucially) by Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn. Performed by Duke Ellington’s band of course - I challenge you to suppress a smile.

Contemplative music of the day: Sugar Rum Cherry (Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy) - Tchaikovsky arr Ellington and Strayhorn. The joy in this track is how much it swings; I try to urge my drum students to play like this (fat chance) - simple but tasty. I guess this piece isn’t really as contemplative as usual, but I wanted to include something else from the album….. Happy listening.