- written by Steven Barrett (Corner Brook Temple Newfoundland)

Reprinted from THEME, Special Milennium Edition, 2000

Much has been written over the years on the subject of Salvation Army Bands and their invaluable contribution to the ministry of the corps. The tradition of banding, inherited and adopted from our mother country, England, is alive and well and has withstood the test of time as a valued and effective instrument delivering the message of Salvation to people everywhere.

Of course, bands have had, and continue to have, their detractors and from time to time have been criticized for being, dare I say , competitive and out of touch with the listener. Certainly playing tunes that leave congregations shaking their heads in bewilderment has not always helped the cause of banding. However, for the most part, bands are sensitive to the setting they find themselves in and usually respond with music that is appropriate.
 

I’m not particularly knowledgeable or scholarly on the subject of banding. I really enjoy the fellowship and camaraderie but sometimes find it difficult to practice at home and often find myself saying, “not another band practice” or something along those lines. I’m still amazed at the bandsmen and women who can recite the names, numbers, and composers of pieces played by various bands. They can recall pieces played at the last spring or fall concert and what the guest band from somewhere played 3 years ago. Incredible! I have difficulty remembering what we played in the morning service and no matter how many times we play it, I still can’t tell you the number for Brantwood or Fewster. It’s from this perspective that I offer the following “expert” commentary. Of course I can call myself an “expert” because I’ve been in the band now for about 24 years and I’m still “way” under 40!

A non-Salvationist friend I recently met asked me what banding was all about and I suppose that’s what got me thinking about the whole subject. My attempts to describe this noble service to him fell far short of what I felt inside. Somehow I couldn’t adequately communicate my experiences verbally. This cause for reflection led me to discover some interesting findings. While lying in bed one particularly restless evening, the title of this essay floated through my mind so I jotted it down as perhaps a starting point to relay some of my thoughts about the subject.

I realize that many of us in the band have an ambivalent relationship with it. We love it, and we hate it! Don’t jump to conclusions, but if you had to be at every band practice, every church service, every funeral, every concert, every seniors visit, every march, every open-air, then you would understand my comment. It’s quite a commitment and all of it is done without the slightest thought for remuneration!

Of course, this commitment comes at great sacrifice. I know for example that at our corps, ball hockey starts in the gym concurrently with band practice. This has been the case for years, and despite pleadings from those of us inclined to take a stick in the shins, they won’t change the night. So while the bandmaster delivers his weekly soliloquy on key signatures, crescendos, mezzo fortes and ensemble playing, I hear Kevin and Keith off in the distance celebrating a Gretzky-like goal. Why didn’t those guys join the band? And this is the background under which our band is supposed to excel! I wonder!

Banding is a cacophony of sights and smells as well as sound. For instance, there is the bandsman who just can’t get his instrument in tune. He shudders to think of playing into an electric tuner for a couple of seconds while the bandmaster says “Push your slide in... more... you’re sharp... you’re flat”, all in front of other bandmembers who are probably rolling their eyes or cracking up in silent belly laughter. I never could understand how extending or reducing a couple of millimetres of tubing could make such a significant difference in tuning when the air has already traveled a half a kilometre just to reach the bell of the instrument.

And what is it with a guy and his cologne? Does he really smell that bad without it or is he trying to cover something? Or the fellow whose uniform is overdue at the dry cleaners? Perhaps those two should get together!

Look at the guy whose buttons are screaming because he’s still squeezing his enlarged frame into a uniform he bought when he was 19! Or the senior (nothing to do with age) who every week mutters “years ago the bandmaster wouldn’t have allowed this warming up in the band room”, always just before we’re to go on stage. Perhaps I’m becoming a senior, too, because this is actually getting under my skin these days!

And then there are those who try to jostle out of the band sergeant's line-of-sight in order to avoid being called on to pray before the morning service, only to have it backfire on them while the rest of the bandsmen show only the slightest of grins!  Reverent lot, aren’t we?

How about that young fella wearing white socks with his uniform and thinking that no one will notice?  You know he won't do it again, if he wants some measure of self-esteem left.  And since we’re on the subject of feet, what is it with the guy who, despite a great job and loads of money, still wears shoes you wouldn’t mow your lawn in for fear of losing one of the toes sticking out through the side?  Banding’s great, isn’t it? How do you describe to someone the leaky water valve that pours over you Sunday after Sunday, making your uniform wet and spotty, or the stale stench from a seldom-cleaned instrument? Then, of course, there's the beautiful pungent aroma of the band room.  And who can forget the sight of the band at an open-air, all the guys looking sharp in their navy overcoats and polished shoes, except for the trombone player who's wearing a grey coat with black specks!  You gotta be kidding?  At least he plays well!  Oh the fun of it all!

What is it with bandmasters anyway?  You give them a baton, a couple of shoulder stripes, a spot on centre stage, and they think they’re Roger Clemens on the mound.  “OK guys, I’m gonna throw whatever I want at you, and you better play it, and play it well.”  I often wondered if, when a bandmaster is being chosen, the Captain takes him into his office and unveils “The Training Book” on bandmastership.  They both belly-laugh together and then get down to business studying the manual.  If there isn’t such a book, and I’m not so sure there isn’t, it would probably be entitled I’ll Do It My Way.

I’ve played under the direction of many bandmasters over the years and they come in all shapes, sizes, and genders.  But there is one thing common to all of them - they’re all rather strange!  I liken them to a goaltender in hockey, if you know what I mean!  Some bob-and-weave, some rock back-and-forth, some lead like they’re helping the skipper back up the old Queen Mary, and some are perfectly still, conducting with the gracefulness of a hummingbird.  Some have facial expressions that defy description, causing you to wonder "is the band is really that bad(?)", while others are as pleasant as your mother.  Of course, we can’t forget the tyrant!  The one you fear, the one with the reputation for being rough and tough on the boys, but oddly enough, has the best band.  I recall one particularly stern hot-tempered bandmaster who, after months of lecturing a young second cornet player about the evils of plastic mouthpieces and how he should be getting rid of his, just couldn’t take it anymore.  It was a simple wrong fingering from the lad, probably a Bb, that set him off.  The baton left his hand, and like a radar-guided missile, soared swiftly and elegantly, seemingly in slow motion, over the heads of the solo cornets towards the plastic.  Lucky thing for the boy, and perhaps the bandmaster as well, that the thin wire stand got in the way.  It was that summer at band camp that this young man found his mouthpiece melted in his case, a disfigured mound of plastic dripping off the end of a metal tube.  Strangely enough, it was around the same time that this bandmaster retired, his life's work complete.

In all fairness, bandmasters are a hearty lot of men and women who put a tremendous amount of time and effort into making banding what it is, and they should be commended for their courage and dedication.

Did you know that every corps bandsman thinks he is the best brass player in the band?  In fact, most of the guys I play alongside think they should be in the Staff Band.  Though they occasionally ask their neighbour for the fingering of a G flat and, like me, miss the odd sixteenth note, still feel never the less that they’re very good.  What’s even more spectacular is their raw talent because most don’t even home practice, and sometimes they even miss the weekly practice session.

Imagine playing in the Staff Band!  That would be like making the NHL.  Big stuff!  These guys are heroes to us lowly cheek-puffing squawkers.  We imagine donning the red jacket, playing a quality instrument to hundreds of listeners who can’t get enough of our beautiful melodies and tunes.  Mere fiction to most of us.  But I suppose that from time-to-time we all get an opportunity to shine even if it is a glaring wrong note in the middle of a selection or a thunderous, enthusiastically misplaced note at the end of a rambunctious march.  Some guys do anything for attention!

There are really only two kinds of people in the world, bandsmen and non-bandsmen.  I didn’t realise this until I moved into a new neighbourhood and met John.  When John noticed that I was leaving with my instrument one Sunday, he confessed to me that he used to play trombone in the Salvation Army in his small hometown.  I suspect he now regrets sharing this information because subsequently he has been invited over for many baseball catches and barbecues, and is introduced to everyone as my "bandsman friend", which always unleashes a barrage of questions.  Not that non-bandsmen are any less important, but bandsmen have an indescribable, unspoken unity and common bond.  It is an instant recognition and acknowledgement of what one another is, or at least was, all about.  I say "was" because many former bandsmen, for one reason or another, no longer participate.  The memories may fade, but the general pride and knowledge of what it represents still (and always will) exists.  If you don’t believe me, just watch any former bandsman look at old band photographs, discover himself, and then tediously attempt to recognise every other member in the picture. 

The band is an anchor.  It surrounds me with people who thrive and breathe optimism.  It surrounds me with people who are honest and demonstrate integrity.  It surrounds me with positive experiences that have helped me mould and develop character.  It surrounds me with love, support, and prayer, as well as an occasional oddball!  Isn't there always at least one? They're alright, you just had to dig a little deeper to find the good.  I have had the most wonderful opportunities and marvellous experiences through banding.  Some of the finest and most respected people I know are or were bandsmen.  It is a remarkable fellowship and ministry that is difficult to adequately articulate to those who have not shared the experience.  It is regional yet international in its scope, involving a brotherhood of men and women who share a common vision to minister the gospel of Jesus Christ to others.   I can go anywhere in this country or even around the world, and find a network of men and women of like mind and spirit.  I had the good fortune of travelling to South America a number of years ago as a member a Salvation Army short-term missionary team.  Upon arriving, unable to communicate in Spanish, I soon realised that I could still play in any language and soon ended up on cornet, of all things, alongside some Argentine bandsmen, accompanied by a Colonel playing a handsaw with a violin bow!  It was a marvellous experience and I’ve never forgotten it.

So to my friend who inspired me to write, and to others who may have wondered, this is how I see banding from my place in the baritone section.  And “my” confession?  My dear solo horn friend, it was I who have been putting the rice krispies in your sleeping bag at band retreat for the past 15 years, and yes, I did the toothpaste thing too!  So there, now you know!