Concert Season is Finally Here!
As summer 2023 comes to a close, many of us have been eagerly waiting to receive new music for the ACB’s fall concert. It’s almost as exciting as Christmas morning! With that in mind, ACB offers this little poem on the topic…because we know you’re excited, too!
O, What Did Rick Pick?!
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
‘Twas a hot night in August, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, I was sprawled on the couch; I hummed very softly in the thick nighttime air, What tune? I don’t know, I was too hot to care. The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, As memories of summertime danced in their heads; I tore off my kerchief, there was just too much knap, And I lay there perspiring, with a cat on my lap. When from my computer there arose such a clatter, At 2am, what could possibly be the matter? Away to my desk, I nearly did crash; Found a path through the clutter but knocked over the trash. The bright light now drew me, my face was aglow, With activity in Dropbox, I just had to know; When, what to my wondering eyes did appear, New music for fall, it was finally here! With folders now filling, I had to look, quick, What was in store? O, what did Rick pick?! Less rapid than turtles, the files, they came, I could see our great leader call sections by name: “Now, Trumpets! Now, Saxes! Now Horns,” he did list, “On Clarinets! On Oboes!” Not a group did he miss. From the top of each score, down to each tiny scrawl, “Please practice! Please practice! Please practice, ya’ll!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; Back from vacation our members all flew, With new music to practice, excitement then grew. The very next day, my eyes were both twinkling, How my practice would go, I had not an inkling; As I drew in my breath and attempted a sound, Out a note came, kind of raspy and bound. My muscles, they cramped, from my head to my foot, My embouchure and stamina had both gone kaput! My fingers, once lithe, moved like continental drift; And the notes on the page seemed too many to sift. But just in that moment, my body remembered: Sit tall, find my frame, let the air fill my center; Play not just the notes, but the marks that surround, Feel rhythm down deep, let expression abound. I sat for a moment, remembering these lessons, Like visiting old friends and lasting impressions; I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work, Wood-shedding the fumbles, I just couldn’t shirk. As the next few weeks passed, I practiced with heart, Because in short time, the fall season would start; We’ll assemble ourselves and await our great leader, Who’ll be making his way to the front, at his leisure. Then laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, to the podium he’ll go; As he surveys the room, he’ll tap his baton, And wait a few moments for us to catch on. Then we’ll hear him exclaim, with purpose and reason, “Welcome back, everyone! Let’s make a great season!”